


Polar Expressions

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Nights in Sandbridge [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental edging, Christmas, Christmas traditions, Found Family, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Hypothermia, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Medical adventures, Oral Sex, Sex, background Bruce/Betty - Freeform, background Steve/Natasha, background Wanda/Sam, feeling bad about being poor, past Tony/Ty, past abusive relationships, possible cardiac event, revenge porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Part One: Christmas is for family. Tony and Bucky have been together for a few months now, and it's time for their families to make the holidays merry.Part Two: Bucky thought that, of the two of them, it was Tony who had goaded Rhodey into doing stupid shit in college, and Rhodey who'd been dragged along for the ride. It turns out that Rhodey's just as much of an instigator as Tony, and Bucky's in for the scare of his life.





	1. PART ONE: Dreaming of a Green Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This fic covers Tony and Bucky’s first holiday season together and takes place before A Tree Grows in Williamsburg and Howard’s End (we wrote it after we’d already started posting Howard’s End, oops!). Chapters 1-5 are individual, mostly standalone vignettes that focus more on their relationships with other people than with each other. The second half, Chapters 6-11, is all a single plot thread.

Nat whirled into the kitchen like a red-haired hurricane just as Tony was finishing wrapping the flatware for lunch. “Here, for your too-early, too stupid, American Christmas,” she said, and deposited in front of him a box wrapped in quite possibly the ugliest wrapping paper Tony had ever seen. It was pale purple with a silvery shimmer to it and covered with badly-drawn stylized sock-puppet monkeys wearing Christmas hats.

“Nat,” Tony protested. “We weren’t doing presents! I don’t have anything for you!” He couldn’t, really. Even living with his boyfriend and not having to pay rent left his income pretty thin. He hadn’t even really gotten _Bucky_ anything for Christmas, and he thought he’d cleared it with everyone else, too. He was going to say something else, but he got distracted by the amazingly ugly paper. “And what the hell is this?”

“It is not a present,” Nat said, looking down her nose at him. “It is necessary. I made it, so, not very good for a present. Just a thing. That I made. For you.”

Bucky wandered up behind Tony and grabbed the bucket, lifting it over Tony’s head for the purposes of dropping it off at the hostess station. It had gotten busy over the last two weeks as the holiday approached; while Tony wouldn’t have thought a beach Christmas was particularly appealing, apparently a lot of people did. There were huge celebrations of Christmas lights on the boardwalk, Busch Gardens had been transformed into a winter wonderland, and there was even a Very Terrible store in Williamsburg called the Christmas Mouse, which was a barn-sized building full of nothing but Christmas decorations.

“Oh, that’s hideous, Nat,” he said, squinting one eye at the wrapping paper. “Good find.”

Tony gave Bucky the stinkeye. “Good?” he asked. “Is there some sort of horrible wrapping paper contest that I didn’t know about?”

“Well, it’s not a contest, ‘ _xactly_ ,” Bucky said. “Just a thing. Wait til you see what Wanda does.”

Nat rolled her eyes at Bucky’s back as he headed out onto the dining floor. “It is a contest,” she said, conspiratorially. “And I am going to _win_. This year.”

“Oooookay,” Tony agreed, because it was always best to agree with Nat. “Should I open this now, or...?”

She waved at him, a little frantically. “You are putting up the tree tonight, yes? So, open, open.” She perched on the end of the staff table, watching him intently.

Tony didn’t spare any care for the horrible paper, ripping it away and tossing it vaguely in the direction of the trash. Inside was a box; he lifted the lid and--

Dropped it, scrambling backward in sudden startled terror, heart pounding. “What the fuck!”

Nat reached into the box and plucked out a black, glittery spider about the size of her palm with wiggly legs and red markings along its back. She sat it on the table. On further (but not _closer_ ) inspection, the spider -- disturbingly realistic in shape -- was made from beads and tiny fake gemstones. “It is a Christmas spider,” she said, patting it with one finger as if Tony had hurt its feelings.

“A Christmas. Spider,” Tony repeated dubiously. He took it from her, now reassured that it wasn’t real, and looked it over carefully. It was actually quite beautiful, if creepy as hell. Mostly black. No little Santa hat or mittens or a gift held in its spindly limbs. The closest it came to Christmas colors was the splash of red on its back. Tony looked over at Bucky. “Do you know what the hell she’s talking about?”

“It’s a Ukrainian thing,” he said. “I’ve got three or four of ‘em now. And a web.”

“You do not know this story,” Nat said. “Americans, you have reindeer with glowing noses and big green monsters that stuff trees up the chimney, but no Christmas spiders.”

“Hey,” Bucky protested. “ _The Grinch Who Stole Christmas_ is a classic.”

“Why,” Tony said plaintively. “Why do you have a Christmas spider? It couldn’t be a Christmas bunny, or a Christmas moose, or a Christmas _literally anything but a spider_?”

“It is a story about kindness to the smallest things,” Nat said. “I will tell it to you, if you want.”

“At least she’ll tell it to you in English,” Bucky said. “She made me _translate_ the fucking thing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to translate? Say something to me in Russian, and I’ll answer you in Russian, but ask me why I picked this word instead of that word? Ug. I’d rather shower with sandpaper.”

Tony raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend. “We’re going to come back to this masochistic tendency of yours later,” he said. He turned to Nat. “Spider story. Go.”

“All good stories start with a tragedy,” she said, snuggling into the idea of storytelling, her voice taking on more formal tones. “A handsome man takes a wife and does what comes naturally. Soon they have three children and are fat and happy. But then, our handsome man dies. He leaves behind his widow, and children. And they are hungry and poor, but work hard. One day, the youngest child finds a perfect pine cone, and brings it to their house. The widow is happy, they will plant it, and then this year, they will have a Christmas tree. Very important.

“They bury the pine cone, they take care of the tree. All year, it grows. But when Christmas comes, they cannot decorate. All that is on their tree is a poor spider and her web. The middle child says ‘sweep it away,’ but the oldest child says ‘no, she is only a poor spider, and her web is pretty. It will decorate our tree for us.’

“They go to sleep and they are cold and hungry, but it is Christmas, and they are together, so they are as happy as they can be.

“The next morning, the spider has spun her web over the entire tree and it is lovely. The widow opens the door to their house and when the morning sun hits the web, all the strands become silver and gold. A gift, from the spider, to the family who was kind to her.

“And they are never poor or hungry again,” Nat finished.

Tony applauded. “Nicely done, good story.” He considered the sparkling ornament. “Okay. Christmas spider. But I reserve the right to scream like a baby every time I forget which box it’s in and open it unexpectedly.”

“It is good luck,” Nat said. “And more attractive than Steven’s Christmas _pickle_.”

“That is entirely a matter of opinion,” Steve piped up. “Don’t you be dissing on my grandmother’s pickle ornament.”

The door chime sounded briefly, and Bucky stuck his head out of the kitchen, then went to seat the lunch guests who arrived.

“No, go on,” Tony said. “Tell me the story of the pickle that saved Christmas.”

“No story, just a game,” Steve said. “It’s a green ornament, blends in with the tree. And whoever finds it first, there’s a special present for them. It’s for kids. But I haven’t seen any of my cousins since my dad left. Still, I have the pickle that his mom gave me.” He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “What did you-- I mean, is there anything you used to do, for Christmas, Tony? That you miss? This’ll be your first year with us, and, you know. Want you to feel at home.”

Tony didn’t really think of Christmas with anything like nostalgia. It had been a day for pretending to be a happy family while trying to gauge his father’s tipping point and making himself scarce beforehand. It was a good year if his parents decided to take a vacation for the holidays and Tony was left to rattle around the house by himself. Things had been a little better with Ty, but it had always been a quiet day for them, an exchange of gifts that Ty had very specifically told him to buy, so there was no surprise.

“Nah, nothing really,” Tony said. “Lots of room for making new traditions, I guess.”

“Well, we certainly do that,” Bucky said, coming back in. He handed Nat the drinks order and her tray and rather pointedly waited for her to get to work. “We kinda do our own thing up in here. Wanda and her ugly wrapping paper. Sam who always wants to make ridiculous popcorn and cranberry ropes and tie them around everything. Mulled wine -- that’s Nat. We’ll have fun.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Tony said honestly. “Oh, I might have a guest for a couple of days -- Bruce? You remember I went up to meet him at the school where he’s a professor? They’ve got a nice long winter break, but Bruce doesn’t really have any family, and his girlfriend is on the outs with her dad, and I told him they should come down here for a few days. They won’t be in the way; I found an airbnb house for them to stay at and everything.”

“Sounds great, babe,” Bucky said, easily. “Steve cooks for a small army, during Christmas, so feeding a couple of extras is never a problem.”

“Let me know if they have food allergies, or special requests,” Steve added. He lifted the lid on the soup pot, giving the turkey noodle a stir, wafting the scent into the kitchen. Seasonal menu item, and it smelled _amazing_.

“Thanks,” Tony said, feeling weirdly out of order. Happy -- delighted that Bruce’s visit wouldn’t put anyone out, of course, and that his family was not only accepting but accommodating. But it felt strange, not to have to fight for what he wanted, still. Every once in a while, Ty jumped up to remind Tony that he had no idea what “normal” looked like.

Still, if Steve cooked even half as much for Christmas as Nat had insisted on for Thanksgiving, there would be enough food to feed the entire sandbar, so it wasn’t an imposition at all. He took a couple of breaths and wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist. “Thanks,” he said again, lower. “...But do we really have to hang spiders on our tree?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas spider, story and ornaments, are a Ukraine Tradition. You can read more [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legend_of_the_Christmas_Spider) and you can see examples of them on [etsy](https://www.etsy.com/search?q=christmas%20spider) (do NOT go look at them if you don’t like spiders, they are disturbingly creepy) I think I’ve mentioned that my sister-in-law is Ukrainian, and with Nat (the Black Widow) being one of our major players, this amuses me to no end.
> 
> The Christmas Pickle is also a thing, complete with a ridiculous apocryphal story that you can read about [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_pickle).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for possible content/trigger warnings.

Clint took his obsession with purple just a little too far. Exhibit A: the hideous purple velvet Santa hat he insisted on wearing, starting the day after Thanksgiving and running all the way until he replaced it with a purple top hat for New Year’s.

Bucky shook his head. “No dogs in the kitchen,” he yelled in reminder. Clint dropped off a double handful of mail on Bucky’s desk and headed off, more mail clutched to his chest.

Usually Dockside’s mail consisted of bills, advertisements, and various reminders. Around Christmas, they got flooded with cards from business associates, friends of Bucky’s parents who were still alive, a few from Bucky and Steve’s high school friends who’d moved out of the state. Bucky would set these up on the runners around Dockside’s dining room, a visible reminder of the seasonal love and cheer.

He divided out the stack; bills and other business in one pile, trash and advertisements went straight into the circular file, and then Christmas cards in another pile. He opened the bills first, so he wouldn’t be tempted to ignore them in favor of the content, warm feeling that Christmas cards always gave him.

The electric bill. He pulled up the business accounts on the computer and put in the entry, adding another hundred dollars for the charity home-heating that the power company ran. It was a tradition; Winifred had grown up in a literal tar-paper shack and had told some pretty vivid stories about how cold it was without electric.

Various charities. Reminder for the Special Olympics event that Steve and Nat did every year. An advertisement for a local real estate company loosely disguised as a calendar. The city’s storm-water fee.

Work done, Bucky started opening Christmas cards. Aww. Peggy Carter had sent one this year, containing a few photos of her and her husband, with a baby in Peggy’s arms and a cat who was sniffing curiously at the infant. Cute. He’d have to remember to show Steve.

Another one from the lawyer he’d employed when Big Jim had died, to get the will straightened out. That guy sent him a card and some business cards every year. Didn’t matter, the card was pretty, all raised gold and red lettering. Very elegant.

The third one was heavier than normal. When Bucky pulled the card out, a half a dozen photographs spilled onto his desk.

***

An excited bark was all the warning Tony got before his face was full of dog breath and spit. “Lucky, no, _down!_ ” Tony pushed at the overenthusiastic mutt and sat up, scrubbing at his face. “Who the hell let you in here?”

“Hey, short stack, brought your mail!” Clint yelled from the living room.

“Ug, who let _you_ in here?” Tony complained more loudly, grinning. He was probably never going to get used to the way Bucky didn’t bother locking the house door behind him, but so far no one had murdered them in their sleep. He dragged on a pair of jeans and padded out into the living room. “Why do I have mail? Who the hell would send me anything?”

Junk mail, probably -- he’d only had his ID back for a couple of months, but he’d had to fill out all kinds of paperwork to get a cell phone, so he’d immediately wound up on a dozen mailing lists. But Clint usually just tossed the obvious junk right away.

The envelope Clint handed him was the size and shape of a holiday card. Better-disguised advertising junk, Tony thought. “Thanks,” he said. “I haven’t made coffee yet, so take your mutt and go sniff around the big kitchen instead.”

He turned the card over and whatever Clint responded, Tony didn’t hear it, because the card wasn’t junk.

It was from Ty.

***

“Oh my god,” Bucky’s voice came out with a breathless sort of panic.

He was staring at the spray of… what couldn’t possibly be called anything other than _pornography…_ across his desk.

Five by seven, color, glossy photos.

Bucky wasn’t entirely certain how he’d managed to pick one of them up. His hands were shaking.

 _Tony_.

Stripped naked and kneeling, perfect ass toward the camera, prepped and ready. Staring over his shoulder at the photographer, with a desperate, come-hither look on his face.

“Oh. My god.”

More pictures. Tony sprawled, naked and smiling with those sated, sleepy, post-coital half-lidded eyes.

Tony on his knees, a bird’s eye-view, with Tony swallowing someone’s dick, looking up into the camera.

“Jesus. What the _hell--_ ”

The last picture, Tony didn’t even have the goatee. His face was so… _young_. He looked like he probably couldn’t even drive yet. Much less be arched up on someone’s sofa, dick in hand, jerking off for someone else’s gaze.

Bucky dropped the picture like it had burned him. _Holy shit_ , that was goddamn child pornography in his hand.

Bucky wiped his hand off on his jeans.

There was a card, wasn’t there? Somewhere. Who the--

No return address.

Bucky pulled the card out of the envelope like it was a snake that might bite him.

***

Ty had sent him a goddamn _Christmas card_. With pictures in it. The sort of happy, fluffy pictures you put in Christmas cards.

A selfie of him and Ty at a concert they’d attended, laughing and mugging for the camera. A shot of Tony preparing to eat a monster hotdog from their favorite ‘dog truck. (There had been a lot of joking innuendo, there, but the picture itself was just funny.) A picture of Tony curled up on the couch in their apartment, laptop sliding off onto the cushion as he drowsed. A picture of them having a snowball fight that one of Ty’s friends had taken.

They were sweet pictures, painting a portrait of a happy, loving relationship. It was almost -- _almost_ , but not quite -- enough to make Tony feel a little nostalgic.

He was vaguely grateful that Ty hadn’t included any of the more pornographic pictures they’d taken.

He eyed the card itself suspiciously, then sighed and opened it. Might as well.

_Missing you so much, baby, especially this time of year. Thought you’d like some of our happy memories. You can always come home. (heart) -Ty_

***

The card was some generic thing, a badly done winter scene, with no pre-printed message on the inside.

Instead was a couple of sentences, the pen-marks so deep in the paper that Bucky could feel the hostility bleeding out.

 _You getting this Barnes?_  
_In case you need to be reminded of what you took on._  
 _Little slut._  
 _You can’t trust him._  
 _He’ll come home. You wait._

It wasn’t signed, but it hardly needed to be, did it?

Bucky was aware that there was pain in his hand, that he was biting down on the pad of flesh just below his thumb. A soft, pained whine leaked out of his throat.

Tony looked up at him from the obscene images on Bucky’s desk.

Hastily, Bucky flipped the pictures upside down.

He’d seen Tony naked a hundred times, at least. But Tony hadn’t… hadn’t given Bucky permission to look at him _like that_.

Those images weren’t meant for Bucky. He was never supposed to have seen them. Tony…

The back of the photos taunted Bucky. He wanted to scour them, to see if he could find those hints on Tony’s face. Of fear, or disgust, or loathing.

Was afraid of what he _would_ see, if he did that.

Tony was honest enough to admit his relationship with Ty hadn’t been all bad, that Tony hadn’t noticed how bad things were getting until they were awful.

Bucky didn’t want to see Tony’s face while he gazed with wanting at _someone else_.

His stomach churned. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying to erase what he’d seen.

***

Ug, gross. Ty was such a... Tony couldn’t think of a word bad enough, at least not until he’d had coffee. He scooped up the card and pictures and dropped them in the trash. He was done with that part of his life. Not interested.

Coffee. Was probably already made, downstairs, which saved him having to wait for the pot. Tony dug up a tee and slipped on some shoes and went in search of his boyfriend, hoping to wash the bad taste of Ty out of his mouth. Heck, even Lucky would be better than Ty.

Dockside wasn’t open for lunch in the winter, so the kitchen was quieter than Tony was used to. Clint was at the sink, scrubbing dishes from the day before that had been left to soak overnight, as if he wasn’t a literal millionaire. “Hey, you’re up!”

“No thanks to you,” Tony muttered, beelining for the industrial coffee pot. “That was not mail I wanted to be woken up for.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Clint said, flicking soap suds at him. “Loverboy’s in the office, if you’re looking for him.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, scalding his mouth on a gulp of coffee before wandering that way. “Hey, babe, it’s me.” He tapped on the door in warning and then opened it.

***

It had to be the shock of it. Or the fact that Bucky hadn’t had any time to figure out what he was going to _do_.

Hadn’t decided what to say, what to think.

Panic engulfed him, hot like a spoon left on the stove, swampy and thick.

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Bucky managed, grabbing the stack of advertisements and yanking them over the incriminating pictures. He didn’t want Tony to see the pictures. Didn’t want Tony to know _Bucky_ had been looking at them. Except he was in such a hurry about it that he accidentally flicked one of them off the desk and onto the floor where it landed just past Tony’s sneaker.

Please, God, let it be upside down.

It wasn’t.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, sinking into his chair, wishing he could just disappear.

Tony looked from Bucky to the mess on the desk to the picture on the floor, his expression cascading through surprise and hurt to confusion and, finally, anger. “Oh,” he said shortly. He bent to pick up the picture. He glanced at the back -- blank -- and then looked at it again. “I see Ty sent you a card, too. I wondered why the one he sent me was so... clean. I’m guessing his note to you was less... warm.”

Bucky didn’t actually slide under his desk to hide, but he _wanted_ to. Guilt and shame clawed at him. His dad had caught him once with old copy of _Mandate_ and this was something like that. “I… uh,” he stammered, not able to look up at meet Tony’s eyes. He was aware of his cheeks heating, the back of his neck was probably as red as brick. “Yeah, I… too? I… I wasn’t _looking_.”

“Yeah, he sent me a few fluffy ‘remember how good we were?’ pictures in some kind of, I don’t know, desperate attempt to get me back.” He looked down at the picture _again_. “I guess I should be grateful he’s just trying to humiliate me to my boyfriend instead of threatening to send these to my dad. Honestly, I’m pretty sure all the pictures we took were pretty tame, though; I’m... trying to figure out why you look like you’re actively trying to melt.”

“It’s… _private_ ,” Bucky said, trying to remember how to breathe. “It’s… it’s revenge porn. And it’s _gross_ , an’... an’ I’m pretty sure you’re not even legal age in some of these. I mean, not that you’re gross, Tony, of course I... ”

“Oh my god, _breathe_ , baby.” Tony came over to the desk and rather deliberately unearthed the other pictures and started flipping through them. “Yeah, I’m pissed as hell that he sent these to you, but it’s not like you _asked_ for them. Oh, _this_ one. If it makes you feel better, we took this one on my eighteenth birthday. Technically legal. In fact, I think that’s _why_ we took it. Jesus, I can see why you’d think so, though; I look about twelve here. Growing the goatee was a good decision. Well done, me.”

Bucky had an overwhelming desire to tear all the pictures from Tony’s hands and rip them into pieces. “It doesn’t,” he said, finally. They were Tony’s pictures. Tony was the only one who had the right to decide what to do with them. “It’s…” It took him a while to find the right word, searching around in some mental thesaurus, scouring the back corners of his brain. “It’s _violating_. You _never_ wanted me to see this.”

Tony snorted. “Well, I certainly hadn’t _intended_ for you to see them, no. But the damage is done. If I gave you permission, would you want to keep them?”

“God, _no_ ,” Bucky said, pushing back from his desk like he couldn’t get far enough away. And then guilty, again, because he wasn’t saying there was anything wrong with Tony. There wasn’t anything wrong with Tony taking some dirty pictures with someone he had loved. It wasn’t even that some of the pictures weren’t sexy (altho really, Bucky could have lived his whole life happy _never_ seeing Tony choking on someone else’s dick) because some of them kinda were. It was more… the malice in it.

Ty hadn’t sent the pictures to Bucky with anything other than utter loathing, had sent them with the intent of pointing out that Tony was a possession and that Bucky had _stolen_ him.

He coughed, trying to clear his throat, get his thoughts in order. “The… the uh, the card’s kinda worse.” Might as well get all the ugly out on the table at once. So to speak.

Tony’s eyebrows went way up. “Worse, really? Wow, that takes some doing.” He leaned over and fed the pictures to the shredder Bucky kept in the office for disposing of official documents and old credit cards and junk like that, then held out his hand expectantly.

Bucky sighed, picked it up. “I’m sorry, babe. You shouldn’t have to…” He handed it to Tony. “If… if it makes a difference, I don’t believe him.”

“I know you don’t,” Tony said. He didn’t look at the card before feeding that into the shredder, too. “Ty’s a scumbag and a douchenozzle and... Nope, still not any words bad enough. And I’m not letting him ruin our Christmas.”

Bucky closed his eyes with relief. He was pretty sure he didn’t want Tony to look at that… that ugliness. Hadn’t Tony gone through enough? “Yeah, I’ll just… put that in the pile of unwanted Christmas presents. Like fruitcake.” He was still having problems catching his breath. The amount of dedicated spite that had gone into that… it was unnerving, really. And he really needed about a gallon of brain bleach.

God, he sucked as a boyfriend. He knew, _knew_ , mind you, that he was going to pull out those mental pictures and look at them from time to time. Whenever he was feeling particularly low. His brain had that tendency, sometimes, to want to torture him. “Do… um, do you think that’s the last of it? Or is he gonna play jack-in-the-box for a while?”

“Oh, I imagine he’ll pop up again,” Tony said, making a face. “I’m going to _rue the day_ , remember?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped down here to find out what you’re in for: Ty sends a malicious note to Bucky, along with some porn-pictures he took of Tony back when. Bucky has kinda a bad freakout about it, especially since he initially thinks Tony is underage in at least one of them (thus child porn, which could get Bucky in real trouble for possessing). (It isn’t.) 
> 
> Revenge porn sites do exist and have been used to particularly ill effect, most especially on women.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky shut the doors on the last of the Christmas Eve diners promptly at eight-thirty and wouldn’t unlock the front door for customers again until two on Boxing Day. Clint waited exactly two seconds after the door closed to let go with a loud war whoop, jumping up and down like he’d actually worked through the entire summer season or something.

“Hey, Tony,” Clint said, “darts game for who does this last load of dishes?” He turned to give Tony a pair of wide, innocent blue eyes.

“How many times do you expect me to fall for that?” Tony wondered. “How about backgammon instead?”

“Aw, no,” Clint said. “You don’t get better at darts unless you _practice_. Where I can’t even remember the rules to backgammon between one game an’ the next.” He sounded eminently reasonable, but he was also some sort of super-freak as far as aim went. Tony’d never seen him miss. Ever. He could shoot a crumpled napkin from the dining room into the kitchen trash can, timing the swinging doors just right as Nat came out with a tray.

Bucky snorted and dug in his pocket. “Flip for it. Tony, call while it’s in the air.” He balanced a quarter on his thumb.

“Why does Tony get to call it?” Clint sulked.

“If you do not want to know the details, Clinton, do not ask,” Nat chimed in, primly. She pulled out her wad of cash tips and headed to the register to change small bills into larger ones.  

Bucky popped his thumb, sending the coin spinning into the air.

“Tails,” Tony called, and kept bussing the tables. It was bad luck, he’d decided at some point, to watch the coin land.

“Heads,” Bucky said. So much for that theory. “Clint, finish sweeping and move some tables, you know the set up. And bring the chairs in--” Bucky was talking to thin air. Clint was already out the front door. “One of these days…”

Tony laughed and kissed Bucky’s cheek on the way to the kitchen. “It’s okay, honey. Finishing up this early feels like a vacation anyway.” He wasn’t sure it was possible to actually get _used_ to spending whole days on his feet, but he certainly wasn’t feeling as wiped as if they’d been open another two hours. And the crowd tonight had been mostly pretty relaxed.

He scrubbed the plates as quickly as he could, one eye on the clock. He’d told Bruce to come by around nine, but Bruce and Betty had never been to Dockside, and didn’t know any of the people. Tony wanted to be on hand when they arrived.

It was actually a few minutes before nine when someone knocked on the window, a dark-haired woman with an almost elfin grace to her movements. She waved and held up a tote bag when Tony met her gaze. A moment later, Bruce scooched up next to her, slumped shoulders and messy curls.  

Tony grinned and dove for the door, unlatching it with one quick twist of his wrist. He pulled it open and pounced on Bruce with a hug. “Brucie! Wow, you weren’t kidding about how pretty Betty is, either! Hi, I’m Tony--” He held out a hand for Betty. “--and we’ll get you guys inside before we do the rest of the introductions, sorry.”

Betty smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “And I’m even smarter than I look.” Rather than shaking Tony’s hand, she handed off the bag, which was unexpectedly heavy. “It’s nice to meet you. Bruce’s had a lot to say about you, too.”

Tony jokingly staggered under the bag until Steve took it from him. “Thanks. And yeah, but I already knew how smart you are because Bruce won’t shut up about your gorgeous brain.” Tony grinned and elbowed Bruce, who looked pleased and flustered at the same time. “Also I poked around on your faculty page and read a couple of your papers.”

Betty actually looked surprised by that. “No, really? I hope not the one on phytochrome and non-phytochrome dependent blue light effects. Every time I read that, I’m reminded that it’s got an enormously erroneous assumption in the third section. Just because I happened to be right…”

“About the existence of the photoreceptor limits? I mean, it’s not that unreasonable an assumption,” Tony said. “How else would--” He broke off at a less-than-discreet cough from Steve. “Oh! Sorry, introductions!” He pulled Bruce and Betty further into the room. “Everyone, Bruce Banner and Betty Ross -- I’ll let you guys figure out which is which.” He pointed around the room. “And that’s Steve, our cook who is utterly wasted on this place but don’t tell him I said so. Nat -- you’ll want to talk to her, Betty; she’s got most of a PhD in ocean conservation; I’m sure you’ll find something green and slimy to talk about. And Bucky, my boyfriend.” He beamed warmly at Bucky as he finished.

“Do you prefer Doctor, or Professor?” Bucky asked, offering a hand.

“Betty’s fine,” Betty said. “You only have to call me professor if you’re sitting one of my classes. It’s a pleasure. Wonderful views you have here. I don’t know how you get anything done, I’d be staring out to sea all the time if my office had this kind of--” She actually half turned, looking out the front bay windows with a dreamy smile.

“If you’re not like this one--” Bucky indicated Tony with a jerk of his chin “--the sunrise can be spectacular. We get a good view from the widow’s walk, above the garage.”

“I’ve seen sunrises,” Tony retorted. “They’re all pretty much the same.” He grinned and ducked away from Steve, who was even more of an early riser than Bucky. “Anyway, it’s too late for the widow’s walk now, but we’ll take you up there tomorrow.”

Betty actually squealed with delight. “I never sleep past six on Christmas morning,” she said. “Still too much of a kid inside. If that’s not too early, it’s a breakfast date?”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m with Tony on this one. Morning only exists because evening and afternoon shouldn’t bump into each other more than once a day.” He rescued the bag from Steve and put it on the table, drawing out a few bottles of wine. “For our hosts. And I haven’t had a real Christmas in a while, so I might have gotten carried away.” He pulled out several Christmas patterned tins. Grabbed a green one and handed it to Tony. “Whiskey fudge, remember?”

Tony snatched the tin and cracked the lid to inhale the aroma. “Marry me.”

Bruce laughed. “Still no.”

“Come on, we’ll go upstairs,” Bucky said. “Me an’ Tony live above, and my sofa’s more comfortable than the benches, long term.”

“That is deliberate,” Nat said, crisply, stealing a piece of fudge over Tony’s shoulder. “If it was so comfortable here, we would turn fewer tables and I would get less tips. Come here, eat, drink, and _go home_.”

Betty blinked a few times. “Oh. Well, that explains a lot,” she said.

Steve stashed some of the wine in the main fridge -- they were planning to eat Christmas dinner downstairs the next day, anyway. Bucky’s couch might have been comfortable, but the table upstairs only sat four with a prayer -- and they made the transition upstairs.

Betty stopped to admire the tree as Bucky plugged in the lights when they got in the living room and made a friend for life when she squealed again, delighted at finding one of the six Christmas spiders. (Really. There were _six_ of those damn spiders on Bucky’s tree.) Nat grabbed Betty’s hand and dragged her over to the pair of wingback chairs. Bucky dropped onto what Tony considered Bucky’s side of the couch, with Tony in the middle and Bruce on the far end. Steve, who came in last, grabbed a handful of cushions and sat at Nat’s feet, tucking the pillows behind his back against the leg of the chair.

The conversation was prosaic for a while -- the drive down from Culver, where Bruce and Betty taught; how their classes had gone this past semester; where Nat had done her studies and what her specialties had been. And then it veered sharply into science talk, as Nat, excited to meet someone who understood more than a tenth of what she said, went into much more detail of the doctoral thesis she'd never gotten to finish. Even Tony only followed some of it, but he managed to ask questions that weren’t too embarrassingly lacking in thought. Bruce countered with some biochemical perspective that made Nat even more excited. Betty argued for a slightly altered equation, and Tony... He had most of his favorite people, an intellectual exchange, and his boyfriend warm at his side... Tony was in _heaven_.

***

Well, Bucky was in hell.

He’d always known that Tony outclassed him. That Tony had been meant for better things than Sandbridge, but he hadn’t really had his nose rubbed in it quite so hard before. He’d managed a few good jibes -- “See, Steve, this is why I ain’t gonna play Scrabble with him” -- but while Tony had laughed at that and elbowed Bucky in the side, it hadn’t turned the conversation but for a moment.

If Nat hadn’t been talking excitably, both hands moving as she discussed -- something. Bucky didn’t even know -- an area of her study, Bucky might have thought the four of them were playing some sort of elaborate joke. Nonsense words, half a dozen syllables or more, spilled out of Tony’s mouth with ease.

At first, it was kinda cute. Tony was animated, enthusiastic. His whole face crinkled when he smiled, drawing attention to his lush mouth and his eyes sparkled and he bounced excitably in his seat. Bucky and Steve exchanged a couple of tolerant “look at these nerds” glances. But Steve was sitting just far enough away that Bucky couldn’t talk to him without talking over everyone else.

And then it got boring; Bucky had nothing. He wasn’t even sure they were still speaking _English_.

And then it got worse than boring.

It reminded him, a bit, of some of the arguments that Becca had with Dad, how she wanted to do something worthwhile with her life. That she was better than _this_. This, meaning Dockside. Meaning the service industry. Meaning a job that any idiot could do. He hadn’t listened to her all that much. It was good enough for Ma, it was good enough for Bucky. But at the same time, it recalled his lackluster high school career, the two year degree in business management. He’d never _liked_ school.

Even when he’d been jumping from shit job to shit job before his Ma finally called him home and put him to work in the kitchen full-time, there hadn’t been anything else he’d wanted. Dockside was enough. It was home.

But was it because he loved it, or because he didn’t have enough ambition to reach for _anything else_?

Tony had been right, earlier. Steve was wasted on the grill; his cookery degree wasn’t much, but his _talent_ was enormous.   

Bucky was just starting to get really cranky about the whole thing when Steve nudged his foot.

They’d been friends since second grade, and while Nat might have put things into words better than Steve sometimes, Steve knew Bucky better than most. They could have entire conversations without saying a word. Steve raised an eyebrow. _You okay?_

Bucky moved one shoulder. _Eh._

Steve’s blue eyes flicked from his wife to Tony to the others, then he tipped his head to the side. _What can you do?_

Bucky let his lip pooch out a little further. _I’m sulking, Steve, lemme alone._

There went both eyebrows and the side of Steve’s mouth twitching up. Then he jerked his chin at the kitchen. _Stop pouting. Come with me._

As far as Bucky could tell, Tony didn’t even notice when he got to his feet and followed Steve into the house-kitchen. “What, Rogers?”

“Let’s make a gingerbread house,” Steve suggested. “Whatcha got in the bake-basket?”

Ma Barnes had often set the boys to baking when it was too rainy to be outside and they were restless. Steve’s asthma kept him from working in the restaurant until he was almost seventeen, but a little muffin baking or cookie rolling hadn’t been beyond him. The two of them had spent dozens of afternoons with flour-covered fingers and mouths full of butter and dough. _Cooking is love._

Steve dug out the mixer and was measuring out flour while Bucky pushed and prodded at his pantry, seeing what they had in the way of decorations. Lots of food dye. Pretzels and raisins and Bucky managed a triumphant _aha!_ when he dug up half a bag of leftover jellybeans, bound with a twist tie. Assorted hard candies and several packets of unused birthday cake decorations. “I can make up sugar paste,” Bucky suggested, getting out the confectioners sugar.

The science conversation went on, incomprehensible babble in the other room, as Steve pressed dough onto cookie sheets and set timers. Steve scrounged a notebook while the pans baked, sketching out a few ideas.

“Let’s do a castle,” Bucky said. He was mixing sugar icing with green food dye and it seemed more dragonish than christmas-tree green.

“Sure,” Steve said. “Unwrap those butterscotch discs, we can use them for a gold hoard. You got a turkey lacer kit? I can probably make a workable portcullis with pretzel sticks.”

They were deep into planning and bickering (and a little bit of throwing flour at each other because baking), and Bucky forgot that he was feeling sorry for himself. He and Steve snacked on spare candy bits while Steve free-hand cut out walls and turrets. Bucky found some old ice cream cones for tower caps. For some reason that Bucky didn’t want explained, Steve insisted on carving out a cookie cat that was in the process of hacking up licorice string hairballs.

Bucky used icing on waxed paper to set up latticing, and while the whole thing would have to cool and dry before they could actually put it together without it crumbling right away, Bucky thought they’d done a pretty good job without making a grocery run.

He wasn’t quite certain when people started to trickle into the kitchen. It was some measure of a party, he knew: sooner or later, everyone ended up in the kitchen. It was, after all, where all the food was.

And Bucky had to admit, the half-dozen sheets of gingerbread smelled _amazing_.

“Hey, babe, where’d you guys get to?” Tony said, knocking on the kitchen door frame as he stuck his head in. “It smells incredible in here; what are you-- Oh, _wow_. That’s going to be fantastic!” He looked back and forth between the partially-assembled castle and Steve’s sketches on the table. He leaned back into the living room to say, “Come look at what they’ve been doing while we were being boring!”

Steve took one look at the group and immediately grabbed his knife and stood in front of the construction materials. “No, Nat,” he said, firmly. He indicated a plate to one side with the crumbled bits and cut aways. “You can eat from that plate. Otherwise I won’t have--” He whirled and smacked Tony’s hand away from the jellybeans. “Buck! Help!”

“Just one?” Tony begged, eyes wide. “You’re not going to finish this tonight; we can hit up a store tomorrow for replacement candy!”

“Store’ll be closed tomorrow, silly. It's Christmas.” Laughing, Bucky grabbed a few of the scraps and backed Tony into the corner by the sink. “Leave Steve’s masterpiece alone before he starts to cry.” He fed Tony a smidge of gingerbread. That was old school, Ma Barnes’ recipe, and Bucky knew from years of experience, there wasn’t better to be had anywhere. “It’s an ugly, ugly thing, to make a guy that big cry.”

Betty was better behaved than everyone else at Dockside; she grabbed a spoon and ran out some of the raw dough from the bowl on the counter. “Oh, my! That’s just lovely.”

“That’s Ma’s recipe,” Steve threw over his shoulder while fending off Nat’s grabby hands. He finally put a stop to it by planting a kiss in her palm and then whispering in her ear. Bucky was positive he didn’t want to know what Steve said, since Nat’s ears went almost as red as her hair. She did, however, clasp both hands behind her back and let Steve feed her some of the leftover bits like she was a baby bird.

Bucky wouldn’t have put it past Nat to demolish one of the towers before they’d gotten it constructed, and Steve was often helpless against his wife’s puppy-eyes, so it must have been pretty impressive, whatever it was.

“Steve and Bucky are the two best cooks I know,” Tony told Betty, snitching another piece off the scraps plate before Steve could feed it all to Nat. “I wish like heck I could’ve met their Ma.”

Bruce was scrutinizing Steve’s assembly plan and Bucky’s icing lattice. “This is really quite remarkable. I tried making a much smaller gingerbread house once, and it kept falling apart. How do you make the icing sticky enough?”

“Well, if you keep everything nice and straight,” Bucky said, picking up a wall, “then there’s enough structural integrity to help hold it together without the icing at all. Like building a card-house. It’s all balance.”

“If it was for a competition,” Steve added, “something that’ll sit around for longer than I can manage to keep my wife off it, then we’d use a double-layer of cake, an interior wall. And melted gummy bears. That’s the best, for sticky-glue. But we didn’t have time for that, tonight.”

“Or marshmallows,” Bucky said. “Those are better, if you want to actually eat it later and not need a dentist trip. Gummy bear is like epoxy. You want to wear gloves when using it, or you’ll stick to th’ table.” He exchanged a long, groaning look with Steve. “I’m still blaming you for that one, Rogers.”

Steve snorted. “It is not my fault that _you_ decided to talk on the phone while we were in the middle of making a house.”

Bucky grimaced. “Got th’ phone stuck to my hand.”

“And his shoulder. And his _hair_ ,” Steve pointed out, helpfully.

Tony cackled with glee, then appeased the wounded look Bucky gave him with a quick kiss.

Betty smiled at them. “You two are adorable. How did you meet?”

“He saved my life,” Tony said.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I did not.” He’d offered Tony a job, that was all. Nothing he hadn’t done a half-dozen times since he’d inherited Dockside from his Ma. It wasn’t even a _good_ job.

“Excuse you, you absolutely _did_.” He looked past Bucky at Betty. “I was on the run from an abusive asshole. Had all of about twenty bucks to my name and not even my ID. Got off the bus in Virginia Beach and stumbled into a store because I was about to collapse of heat exhaustion, and he didn’t know me at all or have any reason to even talk to me, but he offered me a job, _and_ he gave me a place to stay. And if he and the rest of these guys hadn’t treated me so well, I probably would’ve wound up going back to the asshole, or worse, my dad. And believe me, even if my heart hadn’t stopped beating, that would’ve been the end of me.”

There was a part of Bucky that wanted to wrap Tony up in cotton batting. He didn’t talk much about his father; a few tossed out remarks here and there. That one, long conversation, but it had mostly covered Ty, and Ty’s gaslighting and isolation. Grooming Tony to be a sex pet of some sort. And still, Tony was adamant that his father had been _worse_. He was about to say something -- anything -- when Nat spoke up.

“It is Bucky’s way,” she said. “And his Ma, before that. He gives us all a home, that we can stay where we are loved. He thinks it is not much, look, he is planning to protest--” Nat pointed at him, shaking one finger. “--but he gives me a job, under the table, when I cannot legally work in this country. Fronts all the fees to get my work visa. Takes in Clint, and he even worse off than you, Tony. He was living in his car with a broken door, in the middle of winter! None of us would have any of this if it were not for Bucky.”

Bucky found himself shaking and blinking back tears and distinctly uncomfortable all at once. He didn’t think about it that way. He’d only given Nat a job because he’d been desperate, and truth, he hadn’t expected her to stay. And because of Steve.

“And he _hates_ it when people say nice things about him,” Tony added with a smile that was half-sympathy, half-teasing. “So we should let him off the hook now that we’ve made him endure all that, yeah, baby?” He kissed Bucky’s cheek. “That’s how we met, but how we got together was one hundred percent Nat’s doing.” He stage-whispered, “Nat does not mind the spotlight.”

“That is because I am amazing,” Nat said. “And these two, very stupid.” She made a dramatic wave of her hand in front of her face and then turned enormous, lovesick eyes on them both. “This. They look like _this_ , all the time, when the other is not looking. Tony, at least, is understandable. He is just come from a bad relationship, maybe not yet ready for something better. Cannot trust _something better_. But Bucky? Augh. So ridiculous. So, yes. I push and prod and nudge and say things. It is better, yes, than trying to cut through all this… sexual tension? Yes, better, right?”

Bucky dropped his face to Tony’s shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut a moment, and if Tony’s tee was a little damp in spots, that wasn’t anyone else’s concern. “I did not look like that,” he said, making ridiculous googly-eyed faces back at her.

“I _totally_ looked like that,” Tony said cheerfully. “All the time. Even when Bucky was looking. He just couldn’t see it. Thank god for Nat.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty awesome,” Steve agreed, pulling his wife in for a hug. “Better than me. I’d have run Tony off, I expect. But it all worked out. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner for my brother.”

Well, that was even _more_ unexpected. Bucky knew Nat would crow about her accomplishments and -- god forbid -- if he and Tony ever broke up, she’d deny any of it was her fault at all. But Steve… Steve wasn’t normally sincere. Not… not like that. Earnest, yes. Honest, to a fault. “What is this, too much Christmas spirit? Can we wait until New Year’s to be ridiculously nostalgic or what? Nat, open some wine. I need wine if we’re all going to be all… _sincere_ and shit.”

“Also, we probably should dig out something to eat,” Tony pointed out, laughing. “Or Nat is going to wrestle Steve to the ground and devour your castle like the dragon she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Bruce’s [fudge recipe](https://www.tablespoon.com/recipes/copycat-jack-daniels-fudge/b8eff042-27bf-4264-a0af-2432ebf8e9e3).
> 
> And this is Ma Barnes’ [gingerbread house recipe](https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/gingerbread-house-103229). please do not do the stupid thing tisfan did one time and stick the spoon in your mouth after boiling gummy bears. Just don’t. 
> 
> Further note: Bucky’s sulk comes from a real life experience where tisfan was hanging out with a bunch of her friends who are as follows: Theoretical mathematician with a doctorate, Nuclear pharmacist with a doctorate in molecular chemistry, plastics engineer and oceanic mapper (worked for NOAA studying the ocean floor), and physics/astrophysics/computer science nerd. Tisfan majored in literature and ended up cooking dinner while everyone else talked and generally felt all out of whack and useless and stupid. Not a feeling she’s used to.


	4. Chapter 4

“I don’t _do_ mornings,” Tony said for the hundredth time, leading the way up the stairs to the widow’s walk, “but the moonrise is pretty, too, even if it’s not full.” He picked up the lounge chair that Nat kept on the walk for her breaks and set it to the side -- the walk wasn’t wide enough for the chair and more than one or two people. “It’s a little brisk tonight; we don’t have to stay up long.”

“It’s a lovely view,” Bruce offered, only slightly awkward. “Do you come up here much?”

“Not usually,” Tony admitted. “Nat’s up here almost every day, though, so it’s not going to waste. I prefer the view from the porch, up close to the beach. There’s nothing on the horizon to interest me, as a rule. My ship’s already come in.”

“That was unbearably cheesy,” Bruce said, but he was smiling. Whether he was trying not to laugh at Tony’s schmaltz or he was enjoying the view of his girlfriend staring rapturously out to sea was anyone’s guess. “I’m glad to see you so happy.”

“I’m glad to _be_ so happy,” Tony countered. “I thought I was happy with Ty, but... nothing compares.”

“You were happy with Ty, for a while,” Bruce said, thoughtfully. “Just because it turned out to be something unexpected doesn’t diminish how you felt then. We all make mistakes, lose track of things that are important. Betty and I… well, we’ve had some tough going, too. Those things make us the people we are now.”

That was... more empathy than anyone else had for Tony’s relationship with Ty, even -- maybe especially -- Rhodey. Sometimes he felt guilty, for not realizing sooner that it had gone bad. For not realizing right from the beginning that it was a toxic relationship. What Bruce said... felt like permission to have enjoyed the parts of it that had been good.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he confessed softly, “whether Ty _changed_ , or just showed his true colors. If he really was as sweet as I remember, early on -- then what changed him? Even while I was still caught in it, I wondered if I had done something wrong, that he was so different. Not that it matters, in the long run, I guess.”

Bruce’s hand was large, but gentle. “It’s hard to see, sometimes,” he said. “When abuse looks like yelling and screaming and hitting, you don’t see maybe that other things are bad for you.” He was quiet, for a moment. “And sometimes you find yourself trying to get back there, because it’s what you know. You know how a relationship works when you’re putting a tiny mark on the back of the whiskey bottle so you know  _how bad_ today is going to be. You maybe find yourself picking fights, because you don’t know how to deal with your emotions, but fighting? Yelling? You know those things.” He looked at Betty, his whole heart and a ton of regret on his face. “But I’ll tell you something. Whatever you did with Ty, those responses were still his choices. He didn’t have to chose to isolate you. If you were being a complete, utter jackass -- not even worth bothering with -- no, don’t interrupt, Betty, let me say this, okay?” But despite that, for a long moment, Bruce didn’t go on, too caught up in it to get it out into words clearly.  

“It’s hard to see. The elephant in the room, but you don’t even know it’s there, because it’s just part of the decoration. It’s what came with the house when you moved in. Betty. Betty helped me get help, or I might have gone the same route as your Ty. So, it’s possible to be better than that. Ty chose not to. But it isn’t your fault. You have to admit you need help, before anyone can help you. If you’re blaming someone else, pushing your problems on someone else, when you don’t even realize it’s you that’s wrong.”

“Bruce,” Betty said, putting her hand on Bruce’s arm. “Let it go, honey. You did it, you were sorry, you paid for it, and you _changed_. From what Nat tells me, Ty didn’t.”

Tony sniffed. “All evidence points to Ty believing firmly that he’s been in the right the entire time.” He thought about those poisonous cards Ty had sent -- the surface of sweetness in Tony’s, and the poison that had spilled over into Bucky’s. Tony still didn’t know what Ty had written in Bucky’s card, but he didn’t have to, did he? What could Ty have said to Bucky -- especially with _those_ pictures in hand -- that could have been anything _but_ poison? Ty had never loved Tony. Ty had loved _having_ Tony.

He leaned into Bruce’s side, since they were having a moment, and also because the wind was brisk this late at night. “It’s like a shadow of Dad. He’s sorry, but for all the wrong reasons.”

“There’s a lot underneath ‘sorry’ that has to happen before it’s anything other than a bandaid,” Bruce said. “I’m glad you got in touch, though. Your friend Jim was convinced you were going to end up dead and tossed in the river, you know. I’m glad it never got that bad. I regret that, too. That we couldn’t do more. Especially knowing how bad it _was_. I’m sorry.”

Tony half-laughed. “Rhodey told me that, actually. I think that was the last fight we had, before Ty convinced me to cut ties with everyone, in fact. I think you did everything you _could_ do. If I didn’t see it for myself, then even if you got me away from Ty, I was going to end up stuck in the same situation again, with someone else. I had to hit the bottom before I could push up, and just hope that my breath held the whole way. ...Metaphors are not my strong suit. You know what I mean.”

Bruce’s hand went into Tony’s hair, messing up his carefully disheveled arrangement into an actually disheveled mess. “Your metaphors are, in fact, terrible. But yeah, I know what you mean.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

“No presents,” Tony whined in despair when Wanda and Sam came into Dockside, laden with packages, and handed him one. “I am absolutely, one hundred percent positive that I had this conversation with every single person here, and that we all agreed that we were not exchanging presents this year.”

Tony had really been counting on everyone listening to him, because he didn’t have much in the way of ready cash, and he really had no idea how to shop for gifts, even if he _did_ have money. He’d just bought whatever he wanted when he was living with his parents, and Ty had always presented him with a sticky-noted catalog or a very short list of links and told him exactly what to get. Tony just didn’t _get_ gifts.

So far, not a single person had listened to him.

Peter, who was bringing up the rear, grinned at him. “It’s not a gift. It’s _payment_ for having to look at her hideous decorating job.”

Wanda didn’t pay any attention to Tony or her brother. She was taking gifts out of bags and sorting them into piles. “And this is for Nat, and this one is for Bucky, and this is for Clint -- well, technically, it’s for Lucky, but Clint has to open it because Lucky doesn’t have thumbs.”

Colorful was a word.

Tacky was also a word.

Astonishingly, amazingly, unbelievably ugly were also some words.

They all applied.

Tony had to admit that under the eye-searing madness of colors that didn’t go together, and patterns that should have been illegal, the presents were all beautifully wrapped. Nice, neat corners, hand-curled ribbons, name tags with gorgeous calligraphy spelling out the giftee’s name.

But.

Holy mother of god, _where_ did she even get this paper? Nat’s sock monkey stuff didn’t even begin to compare. That was tame. Normal. Dollar store, maybe, but not… what even…

Tony turned the packaged he’d been handed over a few times. “What... _is_ this?” The print had some kind of blob on it. It wasn’t a Santa, or a snowman, or a penguin, or even a reindeer. Maybe it was a tree? No, not a tree, either. The colors offered no clues, being a headache-inducing combination of orange and teal.

“Christmas bunnies,” Wanda said, as if that were obvious. “Specifically, badly done, knock-off Iroquoi snow bunnies. Complete and utter cultural appropriation at its capitalist finest. They’re even better than the Christmas menorahs I found last year. Happy mid-winter spending holiday.”

“Don’t mind her,” Sam said. He was digging out presents from his own bag. Old fashioned traditional brown with white ribbons and a few goose stickers on them. Comforting, after Wanda’s outrageous mess. “She’s a Grinch from way back.”

“Okay, but by _buying_ the culturally appropriative paper you are supporting the appropriative capitalist swine who did it,” Tony pointed out, in order to avoid pointing out that they didn’t look like bunnies _either_.  And also that no one was supposed to get him any presents, damn it.

“I get my money’s worth in mockery,” Wanda said, airily. “It won’t be much longer before they figure out how to charge us for the air we breathe. And all my gifts support small, local businesses, and hand-crafters.”

“And she thinks butcher’s paper is boring,” Sam pointed out. “She combs the sales in January and July, trying to find the cheapest, most horrible, deeply discounted paper ever. It’s a thing, man.” Sam pulled out a small package, about the size of a brick and handed it to Tony.

“You guys have been dating for three months; how do you even know that?” Tony complained. “And _seriously_ , we promised we weren’t going to exchange gifts!”

Peter shrugged. “You’re not giving a gift back, so it’s _not_ an exchange.”

A noise leaked out of the back of Tony’s throat somewhere between a whine and a wail. “Not helping!”

Wanda slanted a look at him, then said, “I am going to go have a smoke. Come with me, keep me company.” Wanda did not smoke, as far as Tony knew. Bucky did, twice a day, and Nat once in a great while, but everyone else at Dockside was smoke free.

Which meant it was code for _get your ass out here_. Tony put the hideous snow-bunny package on the table with the rest of them and slumped along in Wanda’s wake.

It was a nice day, at least. Cool but not cold, with a bright sun that made the waves sparkle. Tony leaned on the porch rail to watch the waves roll up onto the sand, and breathed in big lungfuls of the crisp air. He could get through this, right? It wasn’t exactly torture.

Wanda pulled a candy cane out of her pocket and peeled it down. She’d apparently already been eating it; the long end was white and sharp enough to stab someone with. “We’re upsetting you,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

Tony dropped his head down onto his folded arms. “I really meant it when I said no gifts,” he mumbled. “I don’t... I can’t... I’m not good at gifts.”

“I don’t see that,” Wanda said. “I mean, maybe, if you are being all capitalist, and gifts are _owed_ and _obligations_. That there is some sort of contest with points and you are worried that your standing with us will go down. It’s what Hallmark is trying to sell us, so, if you fell in that trap, you don’t have to stay down there.”

“It’s not obligation,” Tony said. “It’s... a language. You give someone a gift, and you’re telling them something, whether you mean to or not. Even if it’s just ‘I thought of you.’ At Christmas, that message gets loaded with a lot of other meanings, even if you don’t want it to be. If you get a gift, and don’t have something to give back, there’s a shade of meaning: I don’t think as much of you as you think of me. Or it can be turned around: I’m giving you a gift because I’m better than you.” He sighed and looked out at the water again. “No one means to say those things. Well, no one _here_ means them, anyway. But the more things people give me, while my hands are empty, the more embarrassing it is. I knew Bucky wasn’t going to listen. I was braced for that. And Nat. But it keeps piling up, these people who think of me, and here I am, telling them -- even if I don’t mean it -- that I didn’t think of them.”

“Your capacity is jammed,” Wanda said.

“What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know how to accept the gifts,” she said. “Like a river, with too much in it and a narrow path. It’s all blocked up, and all you’re seeing is the dam. I understand. I used to hate Christmas. I mean, not even just the capitalist bullshit, you know. But the whole idea of it. I’m not Christian. Hell, the holiday’s not even really Christian for most people. It’s American, which means it’s noisy and competitive and commercialized. And I hated it. I was one of those people who’d jump down your throat for saying _Merry Christmas._ Like, I’d rather someone closed out a conversation with ‘oh, hey, fuck you’ than say Merry Christmas to me.”

“I _like_ Christmas,” Tony protested. “I just... wish I was on more equal footing.”

“You are,” she said. “I don’t mean buying stuff, I mean… you went out of your way to tell us all that you were sorry, that you just couldn’t this year, and we understand that. I think it is more than that. You said you’re not good at presents, and I think there’s some more to unpack there. Which meant you thought of every single one of us, to tell us that you were thinking of us. That you wished you could, that you didn’t want us to feel obligated. So, we don’t. We bought you presents because we _wanted to anyway_. There’s a certain joy in finding a gift for someone. I like to browse, on Etsy, for things. And I have… _issues_ with money. You understand some of these, I think. Peter will tell you. One time I did not pay the bills for _months_ , because I was scared that if I gave companies my money, I wouldn’t have any. Logical, and yet, you see where it all went wrong?”

“Yeah, interest charges and late fees are a bitch.”

“Yes. So is having the heat cut off in February,” she said, thoughtfully. “I have trouble. I have money, and I don’t want to spend it on myself. I feel I don’t deserve it. I wear my jeans until they are falling apart. But I can buy something, sometimes. For you. For Peter. For Sam. A little thing, and it gives me joy to buy it, that I _can_ afford it. Makes it easier for me to spend money later, on things I need and want. So, you give me a gift, that way. By giving me joy. Because I want to do things for the people I love.”

“Yeah, it sounds good, but you know that’s not going to fly with the voice in my head that sounds like my mom being all scandalized because I’m being rude.” He managed to find a grin to shoot her way. “I’ll work my way around to it. Thanks.”

She bounced up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Love yourself enough to let us love you, Tony,” she said. “It’s hard, I know. But your alternative is to think we are all crazy and delusional and fooled into thinking you’re a person worth loving, and that… that is a very bad place to be.”

“You know that, do you?” Tony leaned over to smack a kiss onto the top of her head. “If Peter’s the one who told you that, I’m... not going to fight him. He’s bigger than me.”

“Also, faster,” Wanda pointed out. “Now come inside and open your presents. If it makes you feel better, you can buy something for us for our birthday. At least a terrible card.”  

“I wonder if I can find one with a tarantula on it for Nat?”

“Did she give you one of those horrible Christmas spiders?” Wanda shuddered delicately. “We used to have three. She comes over and asks where they are. I’ve blamed my cat for knocking them down the heat vents. I don’t think she believes me anymore.”

***

Much later, after the gifts and the enormous dinner and more than a few bottles of wine, they broke open Tony’s gift from Sam, which was a bag of single roast fair trade coffee beans from a company that Wanda had personally vetted and approved as acceptable.

When Tony came back into the Dockside dining room to distribute mugs, Wanda was _still_ talking about it.

“... especially the so-called _economy_ coffee, like Robusta, is grown in low altitudes, which is paid for with child labor and--”

Bucky reached out to take a mug off the tray Tony was carrying and slurped obnoxiously. “Yes, Wanda, we _know_. Why do you think brunch is so popular here? Because you will not let me serve shit coffee without bitching m’ ear off about it.”

“I like how _Sam’s_ gift must be approved by Wanda,” Peter observed, safely out of his sister’s swatting range.

“Man, men have done _way_ more ridiculous things than change their shopping habits in order to continue getting laid,” Sam shot back. “Which, by the way? I am.”

Peter groaned and flapped his hands at Sam in distress as everyone laughed. “I can’t know that!”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Tony said, settling back in at Bucky’s side. “I realized that I have gifts for everyone after all. Wanda, your gift is that I did not feed the capitalist engine in your honor. You’re welcome.” He traded a grin with her. “Sam, you get six months of free maintenance for your truck. Unfortunately, you’ve already used it all up. Nat, for you and you alone, I promise to continue joining you for raw bar breakfast.” Steve was already making a face about that, so Tony continued, “Steve, I promise to continue joining your wife for raw bar breakfast so you don’t have to.” Peter hadn’t brought a gift for Tony (or rather, had piggybacked on Wanda’s gift, which everyone knew didn’t count) so he tipped his head back to flutter his eyelashes at Bucky. “And you already got your present, but I don’t think anyone wants you to take it out and play with it right now.”

 

 


	6. PART TWO: The Icy Heart

When Steve borrowed Bucky’s truck for the afternoon for a special errand, Tony had not expected -- at all -- to be commandeered to help stack firewood on the deck. Half the bed of the Dodge was filled with what might have been a cord of wood, if it had been neatly stacked rather than just tossed, willy-nilly, into the back. Bark and splinters and shavings littered the metal floor.

“C’mon, Tony,” Steve said, holding out a piece of wood. “Help me stack this up, okay? Oh, hey, Jim!” He waved the piece of wood in Rhodey’s general direction, who’d followed Tony out curiously.

“What fresh new hell is this?” Tony demanded. He ignored Steve long enough to go to the truck’s cab and dig Bucky’s work gloves out of the glovebox. If he was going to be handling rough-chopped wood, he wasn’t going to end the day with hands full of splinters.

Rhodey, exempt from working because he was on his Christmas vacation, despite it already being the new year, leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Okay, I’m seein’ firewood,” he said, “but this place doesn’t have a chimney.”

“Beach bonfire,” Nat said, coming out to watch. She did not, however, volunteer to carry any wood herself, Tony noticed. “We will set them up for the next several nights. I already spoke with Nick and we have a permit to do this thing.”

“So much better than last year,” Bucky said. “Someone was thinkin’ it was easier to get forgiveness than permission and we ended up with a _stupid fine_.” His voice rose at the end of that sentence, glaring at Steve with mock severity.

“And _why_ are we building beach bonfires?” Tony asked. “Wouldn’t that have been a better draw before Christmas? Not like the weather really needs it.” Christmas had been a balmy sixty-four degrees, not exactly bundling-up weather.

“Nah,” Bucky said, taking an impressive armload and stacking it on the porch. “This ain’t for customers. This is for Steve and Nat, the Wonder Twins. _Form of: freezing idiots!_ ”

Nat scoffed. “It is not that cold, Bucky. You would know, if you have ever tried it.”

“Thank you, _no_ ,” Bucky said, brushing bark bits into the sand and going back for a second load. “I’ll roast marshmallows and keep you two tough guys supplied with hot cocoa, but I like my ballsack right where it is and not tryin’ to climb up into my insides.”

Nat swatted him. “You owe me many marshmallows for that. I do not want to visualize your…” She waved a hand around in Bucky’s general direction. “Man bits.”

“It’s okay, honey, I’m visualizing your _man bits_ over here,” Tony said, to a chorus of laughing disgust. “I’m still pretty much in the dark here about what the hell is going on, though.”

“They’re going _swimming_ ,” Bucky said. “Probably around eleven or so tonight, after we clear everyone out. When it’ll be coldest.”

“Training won’t be so good this year,” Steve said, shoving more wood down to the tailgate. “It’s barely gotten below forty even at night.”

“Not like that year, what was it, you remember?” Bucky asked. “You ended up getting a burn on your back because you practically crawled into the fire.”

“Ug, yeah,” Steve said. “It was _cold_. Like, my hair was frozen by the time we even got to the fire.” He shuddered at the memory.

“Yeah, I’m with Tones on this one,” Rhodey said. “What the actual hell.”

Nat ducked back into Dockside for a few minutes and came back out with a flier. “Polar Plunge,” she said. “Steven was already doing it, before we started dating. And I have joined him. We cannot convince Bucky to swim with us, because he is ridiculously attached to his _man bits_.”

“Well, Steve at least runs beforehand,” Bucky piped up. “10k and a plunge. Last year, he raised over twenty-eight hundred dollars, but I still say it’s because everyone likes to see his tits when he comes out of the water.”

Nat looked down at her chest for a moment. “Mine are nicer,” she declared.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, looked back at Steve. “No, honey, they ain’t.”

Tony stared at the flyer. “You people are _nuts_.”

“Only 10k?” Rhodey said. “Huh.”

Tony stared. “Sugarbear. No.”

“It looks like fun,” Rhodey protested. “Come on, we went skinny dipping in the Charles River that one time in March, this couldn’t be any harder. It’s goddamn _sixty_ out here.”

“We went skinny dipping in the Charles River in March because pretty girls dared us to do it,” Tony pointed out. “And we regretted it.”

“Did we?”

“So much regret.”

“I bet I could do this,” Rhodey said, flicking the paper with one finger. “After a 10k, a nice cool splash would feel good.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to do the running part,” Rhodey cajoled. “I know how you feel about running.”

“Only if I’m being chased by a rabid dinosaur,” Tony reiterated. “Also, _no_.”

“Come on, it’s like two days before I have to head back, and they’re accepting entries right up to the day of. We can do this, Tones.” Rhodey had that bright conquer-the-world smile going that had made Tony do all kinds of terrible things for his two years at MIT.

“No,” he tried, but he could feel his resolve wavering.

“Come on. You can wait by the finish line and cheer me on, and I’ll hold your hand when we do the plunge.”

Bucky pointed a finger at Steve. “Don’t. Even. Start with me, Rogers. I’ve been immune to your puppy eyes for decades, now.”

“Nah,” Steve said, flicking his fingers dismissively, “I know you’re not up for it.”

“That doesn’t work on me anymore, either,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. “I’ll make cocoa. I’ll front your entry fee, an’ I’ll let you nag the customers to sponsor you. But I ain’t setting foot in the ocean when it’s winter.”

“C’mon, Tones,” Rhodey said, “when was the last time we did something together that was worth telling a story about?”

God damn it, that wasn’t fair. Tony groaned and threw his arms over his head. “Fine,” he groused. “But I reserve the right to laugh at you. A lot.”

Rhodey looked pleased as punch, and that was almost enough to make it worth the bother.

Bucky sighed. “Guess I’ll be making _extra_ cocoa this year.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when we said we weren’t going to mess with Bucky's arm or Tony’s heart? We may have been fibbing. Just a little.


	7. Chapter 7

A quick run up to Virginia Beach had netted a pair of board shorts for Rhodes, and Bucky had gone ahead and got all the makings for s’mores, at least for the first night’s worth of training. Nat and Steve would swim most nights, for at least a few minutes, until the event. Clint had made the jump with them once, but refused to do it again. Bucky never had. He’d been talked into wading in the water a few times when it was below freezing and he really did not want the feel of being totally submerged in icy water. Thanks, but no.

Bucky was arranging the wood in a neat semi-circle out on the beach-proper, about fifty feet away from the dock when Tony came up, carrying the requested newspapers under one arm. He was wearing his swimsuit and a sweatshirt, and even though it had been sixty at two in the afternoon, it had dropped into the high thirties after dark. “You sure you want to do this, baby?”

Bucky sat down on a stack of the wood and started rolling the newspapers into thin tubes that he’d use to kindle the bonfire. He stuffed each one between the split logs, tag ends out for easy lighting.

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” Tony said. “The water will actually be warmer than the air, once we’re in it. Besides, I expect we’ll do it once and Rhodey will give up.” He handed another newspaper roll to Bucky with a smirk. “I expect you to warm me up when we’re done, though.”

“Work, work, work,” Bucky said, grinning. Not that it would be a hardship. Also, not like Steve didn’t spend the bonfire half of the evening trying to slip a cold hand down the back of Bucky’s shirt, so he was a little bit used to it, and Tony was a lot cuddlier than Steve. “You know, from y’all’s stories, I always thought _you_ were the instigator, but I dunno, seems like your friend’s a little bit of trouble without your help.”

“Equal opportunity instigating!” Tony said cheerfully. “He didn’t start stuff as often, but he got us into bigger trouble when he did. The aforementioned skinny-dipping girls? We hadn’t been in that water for two minutes before they got out and stole our clothes. We had to chase them, buck naked, halfway across campus to get our stuff back.” He was smiling fondly as he said it, though, so it must have ended... well.

Bucky leaned back to eye Tony up and down. “Well, I can imagine that was a sight, for anyone who happened to be out and about.” Tony did have the world’s greatest ass, Bucky was more than proud to note. Bucky eyed his firepit and flicked his lighter. “Let’s see if I can’t get this going for y’all. The water might be warmer, but you’re gonna be uncomfortable by the time you get out an’ back up to me.”

Bucky nudged the bag of towels out of the way and knelt by the firepit. He went ‘round the tinder, lighting the papers and some pine-sap knotted dry needles. Blew gently to get it started. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, then smiled as the smaller branches caught fire.

Once the twigs were burning, Bucky grabbed a poker and stuffed a marshmallow on the end. He lit it, let it burn until the outside was all black and charred before blowing it out and stuffing the whole sticky mess into his mouth. “On’y reason I do this…” he said, mouth still full of melted marshmallow goodness.

Tony laughed and leaned in to lick the sugar off his lips. “It’s a pretty good incentive,” he admitted.

“All right, fire’s up,” Bucky said. “You can tell the rest of our idiot friends that you can jump whenever you’re ready. An’ babe?” He slid an arm around Tony’s waist and pulled him in, fingers teasing under the edge of the sweatshirt. “Jump toes in first, okay? You haven’t gone off the pier before, an’ I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

Technically, pier jumping was illegal. But that had never made much of an impact on whether or not the locals did it.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Tony agreed. He lingered for a moment in the curve of Bucky’s arm, but eventually pulled away and went in search of his fellow nut jobs.

Bucky prodded the fire a few times until he could feel the blaze baking through his clothes. He pulled out some spare logs and arranged them around the fire, just far enough away so they wouldn’t have a repeat of the incident that ended up with Steve’s burn, so much like a bad sunburn in the middle of winter. He wrapped the logs in towels -- splinters weren’t fun, either -- and turned to watch his crazy friends walk down the pier in their swimsuits. It wasn’t quite freezing; Bucky’s weather app said it was thirty-nine, but the wind chill and water would take it down to damned uncomfortable, real quick. Although, knowing Steve, at least for the first night, they’d actually swim and paddle around for a while. The water was probably warm enough to feel okay, after the first shock of it.

Until they got out, and then Bucky could amuse himself watching them race up to the fire.

There was enough moon and starlight to reflect off Steve’s lily-white Irish skin as he got a running start and dove off the pier, whooping. He cut through the water clean, like a knife, the fucking show-off, and surfaced a moment later, tossing his hair back. “Come on in,” Bucky could hear him yell, “the water’s _great_!”

Liar. Nat was hanging back, waiting to bookend Rhodes and Tony -- ostensibly, in case they ran into trouble, but really just to mock them so they wouldn’t chicken out at the last minute. Rhodes went next. He didn’t dive -- like Tony, he was unfamiliar with the underwater territory -- but he did a great cannonball that splashed Steve.

When he surfaced, it was with a yelp. “Oh, _fuck_ , that’s... that’s _brisk_ ,” he called. “Big breath before you jump, Tones, so you can scream before you surface.”

“Fuck you,” Tony called happily, and jumped without any warning at all. He didn’t try for a splash, just a neat drop straight down into the water. He came up in what sounded like mid-shriek, and Bucky couldn’t help laughing. He hadn’t even gotten all the air out of his lungs yet when Nat dove neatly over his head, coming up beside Steve.

“You are all children,” she accused. “This is nothing.”

Bucky shook his head and started spearing marshmallows onto a toasting fork. Rather than flambéing those, he set them up to start turning nice and toasty-gold. Not everyone liked eating charcoaled marshmallows, Steve would remind him.

Steve and Nat, who were a lot more used to mid-winter swimming than any sane people ought to be, goaded Tony and Rhodes into staying out there for a while, splashing and playing just beyond the rough tumble of the surf. Nat ducked under the water and vanished, which meant -- yep, there went Steve as she grabbed his legs and pulled him down.

They didn’t last long, though, despite Nat’s and Steve’s taunts, and soon Bucky heard Rhodes and Tony cursing as they made their way out of the water and up the beach, half-running in the shifting sand, arms wrapped around themselves for what little warmth it afforded. “Oh, _fuck me_ , that’s cold,” Tony whined, coming up into the circle of the fire’s light.

Bucky grabbed one of the huge towels out of the beach bag and shook it out for him. “Here ya go,” he said. He got another towel and handed it to Rhodes, still folded. While they snuggled into the enormous beach towels, Bucky got out the Thermos and poured them both a cup of cocoa. “So, that was fun, right?” He even sounded dubious to his own ears.

“Actually, it kinda was,” Rhodes said.

“Being in the military has completely melted your brain,” Tony complained. He shifted over on his log so he was closer to Bucky. “This part isn’t so bad, though.”

Steve came up behind them and Bucky immediately grabbed the back of his swim trunks. “No, Rogers,” he said. “Do not crawl in the fire.” He turned a mournful look on Nat. “When did I become all y’all’s babysitters?”

“When you declined to become one of the children,” Nat said, grinning widely and pretending she wasn’t shivering just as hard as everyone else. She took her towel and sat on a log, and pulled Steve toward her. “Come and keep me warm,” she told him.

Bucky smushed a few s’mores together, handed Nat a cup of cocoa that was at least eighty percent marshmallow goop, and dropped another towel on Tony’s head. He could hear the man’s teeth chattering from across the fire pit. “I am not hugging you until you’re dry,” Bucky said, pointing at Tony. “Cuddle up to your platypus if you want body heat right now.” He loved his boyfriend, but he was pretty sure hugging Tony was going to end up with him having a very cold hand up his shirt or down the back of his pants.

Tony pouted at him, but leaned toward Rhodes without an instant’s hesitation. “Your dumb idea, you keep me warm,” he grumbled. He started rearranging their towels in some configuration that didn’t make a lot of sense to Bucky until it was done, and then he realized it was designed to draw in heat from the fire and trap it against their bodies. Rhodes willingly rearranged his legs to prop up Tony’s contraption, which must have meant it worked, at least somewhat.

Bucky did his part of the job, keeping everyone supplied with hot drinks and sugary food until Steve started shivering again, at which point he shooed everyone to their feet, threw a bucket of sand on the fire pit, and herded the crazy polar plungers toward Dockside and their clothing. He spent a moment considering the idea of telling them he’d locked his keys inside by accident, but Tony’s lips were already turning blue, so he just unlocked and let everyone pile in.

The instant Tony had changed back into jeans and a sweatshirt, Bucky found himself with an armful of shivering boyfriend. “We had better raise _all the money_ for this,” Tony said, pressing even closer, as if he were trying to climb into Bucky’s clothes as well as his own.

“Well, Dockside’s always sponsored a team; it’ll just be a bigger team than normal, this year. We’ll manage. I’ll even go against my normal rules and actually talk to Thor _on purpose_.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “ _I’ll_ talk to Thor. I swear, I don’t know why you dislike him so much. He’s not _that_ bad.” He paused and pointed at Rhodey. “You should stay here when I go do that, though. He hasn’t met you yet and I already know you’re not interested in what he’s got to offer. It’ll be faster if we don’t have to go through it.”

Bucky sighed. “Let’s just say you’re not th’ only one that I dated that Thor made an offer to. Jus’... _he_ said yes.” Bucky grumbled. It probably wasn’t Thor’s fault, and it wasn’t like Bucky had been in love with the guy, or anything. They’d been dating a bit, for a while, and-- well, it was probably for the best, anyway.

“Hmph. If he didn’t realize how much better a catch you were than Thor, then he didn’t deserve you anyway,” Tony said. He twisted to tell Rhodes, “Thor’s like a big, half-trained puppy. Adorable, but you wouldn’t want to take him home.”

“If anyone takes him home, it should be Dum-Dum,” Steve said. “Lord knows, that guy’s got a whole forest full of pine.” Steve had finally yanked his hoodie off and his hair was sticking to his face as it dried. The still-faintly-blue locks around his pale skin gave him an almost Jack Frost appearance.

“On the other hand, if you wish a huge, warm, masculine body to keep your bed toasty,” Nat said, “Thor is exactly right. And he will not miss you when you are gone.”

“Ug, friend drama,” Tony muttered. “Dum-Dum needs to give up on Thor and pay attention to the boyfriend he’s _got_. And Rhodey’s straight, he doesn’t want what Thor’s got. We need to find a big, warm, feminine body for Rhodey.”

“Rhodey is doing just fine without any help from you yahoos,” Rhodes put in firmly. “I will find my own dates, thanks.”

“Not after this plunge, you won’t,” Tony chirped. “Cold water, it does things.”

Bucky put on his best concerned-boyfriend face. “Are you sure you’re okay, Tony?” He tugged Tony into an embrace and, keeping Tony turned away from the group, ran an exploratory hand down his chest, making a bee-line for his groin. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to this. I have uses for you, yet.”

Steve groaned and put his hands in front of his eyes in an exaggerated “see no evil” pose. “No, Buck,” he said. “Do not--”

“Come along,” Nat said, grabbing Steve with one hand and Rhodes with the other. “We will drop off the Lieutenant on the way home, and leave Bucky and Tony some privacy.”

Tony watched them all go without pulling away from Bucky’s embrace, though he did lean out to briefly clasp Rhodes’ hand. “Did we want some privacy?” he asked when they were gone, all faux-innocence.

Tony did that. Pushed and prodded and pretended until Bucky was torn between wanting to toss him out a window, or kiss him senseless. It was their running joke, pretending that they didn’t want each other, or that they didn’t realize the other person wanted them, which was just ridiculous, because they were crazy about each other. It’d taken Bucky a while to get his head wrapped around it, really. “Steve would be really mad at me if I peeled your clothes off in front of everybody,” Bucky informed him, crisply.

“So would I. I _just_ got warm; my clothes are staying on until I’ve at least got some blankets near at hand.” Tony smirked up at him, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and leaning in for a kiss.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Bucky said, more like a threat than a promise, taking that offered kiss. Tony’s mouth was hot, tasted like chocolate, but damn, his nose was still cold and that was damn distracting every time it rubbed against his cheek like an ice cube. “Gyah!” He pulled back, rubbing at his face. “Come on, upstairs, you, before certain bits of you fall off.” They had to go back outside to get into Bucky’s house, but once they were in there, Bucky yanked Tony into the bedroom, knocked him onto the bed and proceeded to bury him in blankets. “Better?”

Tony wriggled until his eyes peeked over the edge of the blankets. “Not really. I’m half-suffocating and my boyfriend is on the outside instead of curled in the nest with me.”

Bucky peeled out of his clothes and crawled into bed, shifting around through the blankets until he found Tony. Tony’s knee, at any rate. Which was at least slightly warmer than it had been. He groped his way up until his hand was on Tony’s hip and snuggled in. “There we go.” He was braced, he knew it had to be coming, and he was just sort of hoping Tony’s hands would be only a little bit cool, rather than ice blocks before he found any of Bucky’s skin to warm them up on. When Tony finally did get his fingers against Bucky, he still had to muffle a faint shriek, because his belly was not where he wanted cold hands. “Jesus Christ,” Bucky said. “Haven’t you warmed up _any_?”

“Some parts are warming up faster than others,” Tony promised, snuggling closer. And that was... observably true, as Tony’s body pressed against his. “I could say something terribly cheesy here about you setting me on fire,” Tony suggested, “or you could just pound me right into the mattress.”

_Hnnnnng_. Every single time. Bucky’s stomach clenched up and his throat got tight and his cheeks heated up. He was never going to get used to Tony wanting him, not if he lived a hundred years. Bucky worked his way into Tony’s blanket roll until he had Tony under him, that willing body writhing around under Bucky’s weight. “Yeah, okay…”

 


	8. Chapter 8

Tony was warm, drowsy, and comfortable, so of course Bucky was nudging him awake at some ridiculous time in the morning. Was it even light out, yet?

“Hey,” Bucky said, tugging the blanket down a few inches at a time. “You might want to see this.”

“Mmmf?” He contemplated pulling the blanket back up, but it seemed like a lot of effort.

_Tug_. Bucky yanked the blanket down another several inches until Tony’s entire torso was exposed. It wasn’t quite cold in the house, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable, either. “Tony, you are really going to want some time to adjust to this.”

Tony whined. “Whaaaaaat?” He was aware he sounded like a petulant second grader, but Bucky _knew_ how he felt about waking up early.

“Or, you know, have some time to grab Rhodes and run away, because Nat’s not gonna let you out of it _now_ ,” Bucky said, as if he was being only reasonable.

“Out of... Oh, shit, the plunge is today,” Tony groaned. He freed an arm to scrub at his face. “‘M not doin’ the run, why--” The bedroom was distinctly chilly, despite -- Tony could hear it -- the elderly heater churning away. He opened his eyes, and the quality of light... He sat up straight, gaze going to the window. “Oh, fuck me, it _snowed_.”

Bucky nodded. “Seven inches,” he informed Tony. “It’s not even twenty degrees out there, although it might be by this afternoon.”

“What the hell?” Tony demanded. “It was fifty-four yesterday!” Last night’s practice plunge had actually been kind of fun, once the shock of it was over. And the good news was that ocean temperature wouldn’t drop more than a few degrees with a sudden change in the weather like this, but... the bad news was that he already felt like he was freezing to death leaving the chilly water for sweater-weather temperatures; coming out of the water to _this_ was going to be _murder_.

“Winter break 2.0,” Bucky said. “Happens a lot. Get the kids back in school for all of about a week, and then we get ice and snow. Few years back, it was actually below zero. But, you know, climate change is a  _political issue_.” There was a snort for that; last year the beach erosion report had been falsified for insurance purposes. It was a favorite topic for both Bucky and Nat to rant about.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Tony complained. He grabbed his phone and texted Rhodey: _??? !!!!_

New text from Rhodey:  
 _!!!_

“You’re _sure_ Nat won’t let us out of it? I’m _delicate_.”

Bucky shook his head mournfully. “If you’d taken one jump and decided not to do it again, she _might_ have accepted that. Now, if you back out…” He cocked a finger gun and put it to his temple. “She’ll knit you horrible scarves and make you wear one every time it’s less than seventy outside. She’ll check you for frostbite when you come out of the freezer. She’ll _absolutely_ not let you eat any more ice cream.”

“She will mock me to within an inch of my life, you mean,” Tony said. He huffed out a long sigh. “Why did I agree to do this, again? Oh, right, because otherwise my best friend was going to mock me to within an inch of my life.” He grumbled some more as he threw off the blankets. Might as well start adjusting to the temperature.

Bucky, who was not entirely without the ability to also mock Tony within an inch of his life, pulled out a set of thermals and drew them on under his jeans. When Tony glared at him, Bucky snickered. “Hey, I’m going to be manning a comfort station for a lot longer than you’re in the water.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” Tony said drily, but he pulled Bucky closer for a kiss to take the sting out of it. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault that Tony was easily manipulated by his asshole best friend.

His only comfort was going to be that Rhodey would be suffering right alongside him. And having heated up his body with a 10k run first, Rhodey would probably feel the shock of the change even more.

“Here.” Bucky dropped a few packets in Tony’s hands. They were printed with: _Chemical heat packs for hands and feet; snap and squeeze._ “Put ‘em in your sweatshirt pockets and use ‘em after. The comfort stations are pretty nice, too. Hot drinks and blankets and stuff. You won’t be cold long.” Given the amount of mockery Bucky had done over the past week for Tony and his terrible life choices, Bucky was being uncommonly solicitous this morning.

Tony took a deep breath. It was only for a couple of minutes. He could do this.

By the time he was lined up on the beach with the rest of the Polar Plunge participants, he was beginning to wonder if he could, in fact, _not_ do this. He had a blanket around his shoulders and was clutching it close, but that wasn’t any protection at all for his feet, clad only in rubberized swim shoes that did nothing at all to protect him from the icy temperature of the sand under them. At least they’d cleared the beach so he wasn’t up to his ankles in snow.

The rush of the surf sounded, by turns, irritable and smug. _Come on in and find out what you get_ , it seemed to be saying. Ug. The announcer needed to just shut up talking about all the money they’d raised for the charity and give the signal, already, so it could be over and Tony could go back to being fully dressed.

Finally, the woman’s enthusiasm ran down and she began the countdown. Tony cast glances left and right to catch Steve and Nat’s wide, anticipatory grins and Rhodey’s uncertain-but-determined jaw set. They could do this, together.

It was worse than jumping off the dock. That, at least, was only a single act of will -- once committed, there was no turning back. Running into the waves from the shore meant that the shock of cold swamped Tony to his knees -- he wasn’t the only one who shouted or shrieked with dismay -- and his feet immediately went numb but he had to _keep running_. Somehow he managed to flail out to where everyone else was waiting and force his body below the water line.

Almost completely submerged, it wasn’t... so bad. Which he knew would happen; that was why they’d spent the last ten days doing practice plunges. Getting out was going to suck _so much_ , though. Maybe he’d just... stay here for a while.

It really wasn’t bad at all, just a bit chilly. He’d just stay for a minute and then go... He was supposed to go somewhere?

His chest felt funny. _Squeezed_. He put his hand over it, or tried, but he wasn’t quite sure where his hand was. It was very... very bright out.

He was so _tired_. Maybe he’d just... Just lie down for a bit, and--

***

Bucky missed the rush down to the beach; a few of the runners had come in late. One was in severe distress; she’d fallen on a patch of ice and finished the run anyway. Bucky’s station was closest to the finish line, and he’d cleared her a place to sit and got her some water while they waited for the EMTs to come look her over and patch her up.

The screams from the beach were loud this year. Bucky couldn’t help a smirk. Even Nat probably wouldn’t be quite so smug this year. He gave the injured runner a blanket and excused himself to look out over the crowd. For a few moments, trying to see over the mob of onlookers, Bucky missed the days when Steve was a skinny little twig of a guy and Bucky carried him on his shoulders for events a few times. Not that _Bucky_ could see, but Steve was pretty good about reporting in.

He got a hip in between two gawkers and twisted, clearing a space so he could look out over the beach. Hundreds of participants yelled and shrieked. More than a few were already clearing the water, having done their obligatory dip and were _done_.

It was hard to see; the crowds of swimmers were being met by their sponsors and friends and family with towels and blankets. Wet people in large groups all looked alike. Bucky found himself skimming the crowd for Steve. Taller, broader, and even at the moment, bluer than everyone else, he shouldn’t have been hard to pick out of the group.

Finally he caught a glimpse of them; Nat’s red hair stood out like a beacon once more than half the plungers were out of the water. She had a black two-piece on, which probably shouldn’t have seemed any more crazy than swimming in the snow did in the first place, but it did. Bucky shook his head.

What the hell was she doing?

She wasn’t swimming, she wasn’t getting out… she was…

Steve was about ten feet away, doing the same thing, moving slowly through the water. Yelling at Rhodes. Who was floundering in the waves.

_Where was Tony?_

Bucky couldn’t hear what was going on, the crowd was too loud. A few of the plungers who’d already gotten out turned, headed back into the water.

Bucky brushed off a sudden hand on his shoulder, already knowing, _knowing_ , in the pit of his stomach, what he couldn’t bear to think about--

Steve vanished, diving into the waves.

Bucky was past the snowline, moving faster.

Steve came up and he had a listless form in his grasp. Limp and boneless, Tony didn’t even wiggle in Steve’s arms.

“ _Tony_!” Bucky roared.

Steve was coughing; even over the sounds of the crowd and the beating of his own heart in his ears, that sound was hardwired into Bucky’s brain. It meant _trouble_.

Rhodes was there, getting an arm around Tony’s waist, slinging Tony’s unmoving arm over his shoulder. Between Steve and Rhodes, Tony was dragged out of the water.

“...mid-twenties white male…” There was a crackle of a walkie talkie, and the EMTs were there, a stretcher under one arm. The other one was carrying a kit. They weren’t running, but they weren’t taking their time, either.

Other comfort station personnel were already following in their wake, blankets for the rescuers in their grip.

Bucky pushed through the crowd of onlookers and ended up at Tony’s side as Steve let him down. He wasn’t _moving at all_.

“Tony, oh, god,” Bucky managed. His skin was gray, lips purple.

Bucky was shoved away as the EMTs swarmed in.

“Get him warmed up,” one of them said. A woman knelt at Tony’s side with a pair of scissors and they cut away the wet swim trunks in an impersonal manner. They wrapped Tony in a blanket, then two. Checked for respiration.

“Got a pulse,” the woman reported and several knots unkinked in Bucky’s gut. “Erratic, weak. We’ve got cold shock response, at least. Possible cardiac event.”

“Gimme a chem-pack,” another said, and they tucked the package inside the blanket with Tony.

“Got his wrist-ID,” the woman said. “Anthony Stark, age 24.”

“Who’s with this man?”

_Me._ Bucky coughed, cleared his throat. “I am,” he managed. “I’m his boyfriend.”

“We all are,” Nat said. Someone had given her a blanket and she wasn’t even shivering, her eyes wide.

Steve was coughing. Even in his panic for Tony, Bucky could hear it, the way his chest was working to process the air, the wheeze as he exhaled.

One of the EMTs was talking with Nat, jotting notes down. Bucky was shoved aside with an “excuse us,” as the medics lifted the stretcher. Bucky jogged along beside them. Tony was still and unmoving.

“Are you next of kin?” One of the medics demanded as they got to the ambulance.

“I’m his boyfriend,” Bucky repeated. “He… he doesn’t have family.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Tony had left his father behind in New York and didn’t want the man knowing where he was.

“Only relatives in the ambulance, sir,” the medic said. He didn’t quite look at Bucky; like Bucky wasn’t even _there_. What the _fuck_.

“I’ll meet you there, where’s he going?”

The man didn’t answer, just jumped in the back of the ambulance and shut the door.

Bucky watched the ambulance drive off, frozen in shock and horror. Felt the shiver of anger against his spine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The temperatures given are in Fahrenheit. For those of you more familiar with Celsius -- the temps dropped from 12C to -7C, overnight.
> 
> The winter break 2.0 thing is pretty real; the last several years in a row, the kids have gone back to school, and a week to two weeks later, this area was smashed by a snowstorm, which is bad because we only get 1 - 2 heavy snows annually, so it’s not worth the money to keep snow crews fully staffed or to have much in the way of equipment or supplies. The north makes fun when we get snowed in and cancel school and stuff, without thinking about the fact that our area has a higher poverty rate, and the normally bearable temps mean that less fortunate families DO NOT HAVE COATS or mittens and that there are a lot of single parent or two working parent homes, and long bus-waits, so kids without coats, standing in sub-zero temps can mean DEAD KIDS. (We might get a little hostile about it, having some northern friends who act like tools.) 
> 
> Further, Bucky’s complaint about climate change being a political issue comes from [this bullshit](http://abcnews.go.com/US/north-carolina-bans-latest-science-rising-sea-level/story?id=16913782) that goes on down here… Tisfan has had arguments in her condo association for not discussing “political issues” during meetings where we were discussing freaking flood insurance.


	9. Chapter 9

He was cold. He was _cold_ and he couldn’t get warm and he couldn’t move his arms and someone was shouting, snapping irritably but he couldn’t understand and he was so _very_ cold.

“Hey, hey now, it’s okay,” someone said. Were they talking to him? “We’re gonna get you warmed up, don’t you worry. But we can’t go too fast.”

Why the hell not? Didn’t they know how cold he was? Oh, god, he was shivering and he couldn’t stop, and the voice was still talking but he wasn’t getting any warmer. Just a blanket, please, that’s all he-- _Dark._

When Tony woke up again, it was to the beeping of machines and the particular antiseptic smell endemic to hospitals. He still felt cold, but at least he could open his eyes. It seemed he’d been cold forever. He looked down, and there was a thick layer of blankets on top of him. Why wasn’t he warmer?

The room was quiet, apart from the beeping, all plastic and chrome and bleached white cloth. The curtain around the bed had been pushed back against the wall, so he could see he was alone in the room. There wasn’t even another bed. He was--

Oh, god, he was in the hospital? He couldn’t afford a hospital. Shit, shit, shit--

The door opened. The admissions nurse who came in was wearing scrubs with little flowers all over them, bright and sunny. Tony focused on that, because it looked warm.

“ _Oh_! You’re awake. How are you feeling, Mr. Stark?” She pulled the clipboard off the end of the bed and peered at it.

“Cold,” Tony said. Or tried. It came out on a stutter of chattering teeth: _c-c-cold-d-d._

She nodded, absently. Reached over and adjusted something. “Try to keep this on, it’s your pulse-ox,” she said. “If you think you’re up to it, Mr. Stark, we’d like to get some of your medical history and information. You had a possible cardiac event. When you’re warmer, they’ll have to do some testing. Can’t warm you up too fast -- overheating can give you arrhythmia.”

“You could go a _bit_ faster,” he suggested, and tried a little bit of a smile. “History, go.”

She flipped a few pages on the clipboard. “We got your personal information from your plunge ID, but can you confirm your name, age, address for me?” She went through the list of standard questions that included the fact that he did not have his health insurance card yet; he’d literally just signed up for the new marketplace insurance like three weeks ago. He didn’t have his identification with him, either, and she glared at him like she’d expected him to have an underwater wallet or something. He was too cold to bother to get snippy with her. At least he _had_ insurance, even if they’d have to go look it up. They could bill _someone_. She got his employer’s name, and then started in on medical history. Had he ever had a heart attack before, was there a history of cardiac issues in his family? Hypertension? High blood pressure? Early onset dementia?

Tony didn’t know the answers to half her questions, and didn’t know what another half of them even _were_ , but she just nodded when he said so, as if that was expected. He was doing okay until she got to _next of kin_. “My boyfriend,” Tony said. “James Bar--”

“Mr. Stark, I need a family member.”

“No family.”

“No next of kin,” she murmured, writing.

“I _have_ next of kin, we’re just not related,” Tony protested.

“I’m afraid that doesn’t count, legally.”

“Fuck legally,” Tony snarled, suddenly angry and frightened. “I want Bucky. Where is he?”

The nurse shrugged. “I can put out word to the front desk, if he’s in the waiting room.” She hung the clipboard back up on his bed, then brought out another blanket. “Try to relax and get some rest, Mr. Stark. A doctor will be in to see you soon.”  

“Soon” in hospital terms meant “probably today or maybe tomorrow” so Tony didn’t put a lot of stock in that. But he watched the door hopefully for some sign of Bucky, or even one of the others. Were they in the hospital, too? He didn’t really remember much of anything after running into the water.

He’d left his phone at home that morning, of course, so he had nothing else to do but wait. And shiver a lot. They really could stand to speed up the whole warming process a little.

After god only knew how long, another nurse came in, checked his vitals. Peered down his throat. Her scrubs were plain blue, and her attitude was very matter-of-fact. She wore a name-badge that read _Claire_. “How’s your chest feel? Anthony? Or do you prefer something else?”

“Tony,” he said. “Where’s... The other nurse said she’d get my boyfriend out of the waiting room?”

Claire gave him a brief smile. “Admissions nurse,” she explained. “I doubt she went out there. They’re like the little fleas and ticks of our administration. Blood-sucking and annoying.” She turned something on a machine behind his head which sent a flow of warm air under the blankets with him. Oh, that was nice. “Um, what’s his name? I can have a look, if you want.” She checked his chart, then made a face. “ _Oh_. No next of kin. _Boyfriend_. Tony, I’m sorry. Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital.” He grimaced. “That’s all. The other nurse left before I could ask.”

“You’re in St. Mark’s,” she said. “Catholic hospital. Good place to have a baby. Not a good place to be anything other than… well, you know, I imagine.” She kept her voice very low, moving closer to him and adjusting the position of the bed. “What’s he look like? I’ll see what I can do.”

Tony told her, but -- Catholic hospital. They weren’t going to have a lot of sympathy here for a gay couple. Shit. He should’ve remembered that. Bucky was about two-thirds in the closet still for a _reason_. He waited. And waited some more. And tried not to let a tear slide down his face, but his hands were still too shaky to wipe it away.

Claire came back with a plastic bucket of syringes and a blood-draw kit. “He’s here. I spoke with him, for a minute. Your assigned physician is leaning on the possible cardiac event and the shift nurse is interpreting that as ‘no excitement, so no visitors.’ I’m sorry, I can’t override her. Do I have consent to share patient information?” she said. She gave a furtive look over her shoulder, then as another nurse walked by the door, she spoke up, “And this is potassium, it’ll help you feel better. Sorry, it’s an IM, can you roll onto your side? I can help you, if you’re still shaky.”

Tony did need help rolling onto his side, as it turned out. “You can tell him whatever he wants to know,” he said. “Ow!” He could barely feel his hands and feet, but the damn shot in his ass, those nerves were working _great_. “Don’t suppose the powers that be would move if I said he was just a friend? Or a cousin or something? Help me out, here. I can’t even _text_ him.” He wasn’t sure he could text right now even if he _did_ have his phone.

Claire sighed. “The next shift change is in two hours, and she’ll be gone after that. I’ll… adjust your file. See what I can do,” she said. “I’m on a double tonight, but until the super leaves, I can’t get him back here without a fuss. I can pass a message. I told him you were resting comfortably, which is probably a little bit of a lie. I know this is unpleasant, but you don’t need any more strain on your heart, so try not to worry, too much, okay? I’m not exaggerating when I say this could have killed you. The doctor will be in after your blood work goes through, so I’m going to do a draw, if that’s okay?”

Tony bit his lip to keep his arguments back and nodded, and wormed his arm out of the blankets for her. “Just. Tell him not to worry and that I’ll be okay, and I’m really sorry.”

She did a quick stick and drew more of Tony’s blood than he really felt like sharing. Eight little tubes went into the kit before she finally pressed a cottonball to the site. “Can you hold that in place, or do you need me to tape it? Ah, there you go. Okay. I’ll drop this off at the lab and then bring you something hot to drink? Green tea, or cocoa? No coffee, sorry. Caffeine is bad for your heart at this stage.”

“Ugggh,” Tony complained. “Cocoa. I’m never doing this again.”

“All right,” Claire said. She straightened out his blankets again and turned up the heater. “Try to rest. I know it’s hard.”

Tony wasn’t sure how far the lab was, but Claire brought him back a paper cup half-full of lukewarm cocoa about ten minutes later and then vanished again. Time passed. There was no way to tell how much, emergency rooms not being big on windows. When a third nurse came into the room, Tony was about up to his eyeballs with the whole thing.

“Oh, come on!” he complained. “I just gave like a whole leg full of blood and all I want is--” He broke off as she turned around and smiled at him. “ _Nat_?”

“Nurse Romanov to you,” she said, rolling her Rs in an exaggerated fashion. She glanced down at the tag on the scrubs she was wearing. “Or, in this case, Nurse Milwood. She is very careless of her locker while on her cigarette break.” She drew the curtain closed decisively, then pushed the rolling stool over to Tony’s side and sat down, taking his hand. “We are all very worried for you.”

“I’m ok--” It broke in his throat, and he really _was_ okay, or at least on the mend, but Nat’s gentle touch and genuinely worried expression got into him, under his tongue and suddenly he was crying, hot tears sliding down his cheeks while he gasped, trying desperately to stop it. “Oh, god, stop it stop it, I, shit, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Antonishka,” Nat said, softly, “it is all right. You can cry, that is acceptable.” She peered around the room and grabbed a box of cheap tissues, blotting his face for him. “Bucky tells me to tell you that _he is here_ , no matter what they might say to you. You have not _actually_ told them you don’t wish us back here, I would think.”

Anger cleared his head faster than any comfort. “Of course I didn’t! Is that what they told him? I’ve been asking them and asking to let him back!”

“He was told you needed, and wanted, to rest. _Alone_. He did not believe them,” Nat reassured him. “Bucky knows this hospital. They had many problems, getting Steven in to see his Ma, when she was ill. Not _family_.” She made a dismissive gesture. “The other nurse, she tells us that you are resting, but require many tests. You must get warm, and then they will test your heart. The phrase she uses to us, ‘possible cardiac event.’”

“Yeah, I think they said that to me, too. That part’s not a lie.” He rubbed at his chest again under the blanket, remembering that squeezing feeling. “Oh, god, I’m going to be in debt up to my eyeballs.” Even with insurance, that mostly covered things like urgent-care centers and the clinic in Virginia Beach. Emergency room visits -- and _oh, god_ , ambulance trips! -- were among the highest priced options. His cheapest-option, third-tier insurance was going to be eaten up while it was still shiny-new.

Nat nodded, not unsympathetic, but not pulling any punches, either. “Some debts, yes,” she said. “There is also... event liability. So, perhaps not entirely bad? And they cannot refuse to treat you, so this is better. Money can be repaid. You, Antonishka, _you_ cannot be replaced.”

Damn it, that started up the tears again, though they weren’t the horrible, can’t-breathe sobs from before, just a pathetic stream of gratitude. “Thank you for sneaking back to see me. I was going crazy. You’re all okay?”

“Steven… may get sick. He inhaled some seawater. Medics attended him at the beach, while you were being taken here. I will make him go in, tomorrow, if he does not stop with the coughing. But do not worry, we are all safe, and together, and waiting for you to get better.” She sat with him a little longer, running her fingers through his hair, over his skin. Just… being there. “I should go, before we are found out and all removed from the hospital.” She kissed his forehead, looked at him for a long moment. “We were all very scared for you. Steven pulls you from the water and you are barely breathing. Cold water, it does this, sometimes. We are sorry you were hurt. Your Rhodey feels _terrible_.” She reached into her pocket and dropped her cellphone in Tony’s lap. “I do not have his number, but Bucky and Steven are in my contacts.”

Tony didn’t know that Nat could blush. “Do not read my texts to Steven, but… please, use it. I will go now. You _rest_. I will come back if I can. Perhaps I can bring Bucky with me, next visit. We all love you.” She kissed him again, and left the room, opening the curtain a little and hanging his chart back up.

Tony flexed his fingers. If he was careful, he could text, probably. He turned on the phone and carefully, with fingers still shaking, found his way to the text messages screen. Tempting though it was to peek at whatever could make _Nat_ blush, he was more desperate for some kind of contact, _any_ kind of contact, with Bucky. _Hey bb is tont. hv nats phine. txt hard sry typos. love u._

New text from Bucky:  
 _She found u. Tony. u ok?_

Just that little text made him feel a million times better. _Gtting there. still shaky. tell rhodey not his falt but he stil owes all th beers. <heart emoji>_

New text from Bucky:  
 _Stv says tell u. If hspt want 2 admit u, we take u to Rivrsid, insted, ye=s?_

_Hell yes. Want u with me._

New text from Bucky:  
A swirling dot circle popped up, and then there was a picture. Bucky, Steve, Rhodey, in front of the hospital’s entrance sign.  
 _We r. Here.  
Evythng interesting in w/ u_

Tony had to pause for a minute to wipe his eyes again. He was totally blaming this on the cold. Thawing tears leaking out? Sure, sounds good. _I hve mchine blows hot air in bed. Need one for home. Otherwise v. boring._

New text from Bucky:  
 _Nat bak. Lft nurs stff n bathrom. 1mr hr and I coming to c u._

_tell nat thnk u. luv all of u._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive any medical inaccuracies; tisfan did a lot of research and any errors are her own. Some of it culled from tisfan’s husband’s “cardiac event” a few years ago.
> 
> St. Mark’s does not exist, but there is a Catholic hospital in our area and it’s… well, it’s better than it used to be, but this sort of shit still happens when people think they can get away with being bigoted assholes.
> 
> And yes, that’s fan-favorite, Claire Temple.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony still didn’t feel warm when they rolled him down to the x-ray labs, but once the tech peeled back all the blankets -- he was wearing a ridiculous hospital gown under all the blankets that left his entire backside exposed, because of course he was -- he realized that despite how it felt, he had been _getting_ warmer.

Claire was cooly practical, ignoring his protests and turning the heater off, and by the time she was steadying Tony for his move onto the x-ray station (which was cold as fuck!) he was shivering again.

“Seriously, they’re x-rays, they’ll work right through the blankets,” he complained through chattering teeth.

“Sorry,” Claire said. “The less stuff is between you and the machine, the easier it is for the radiologist to read.”

“Some good that’ll do if I’m frozen to death in the meantime,” Tony grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself.

Claire laughed; not a particularly nice laugh. Sarcastic, almost. “You’re in the best possible place for a relapse, Mr. Stark. Arms down, nice and straight. Shiver later. I’ll get out of the way, then, take a nice deep breath and hold it. Try not to move, or they’ll just do it again.”

“Shivering’s an involuntary response,” he called after her as she stepped back, but then he took as deep a breath as his aching lungs could manage and concentrated very hard on not shivering. _Think warm thoughts._

The x-ray camera made its soft buzzing hum, then whooshed. Claire was back in a moment later with one of his blankets. “Here,” she said, tucking it around him. “We’ll see what this one looks like before we do another one, okay? You’re okay?” She gave him a quick look, tipping his chin up to peer into his eyes.

Tony huffed. She was trying to be nice, he could at least make an effort. “I’m okay,” he agreed. “Just cold.”

Claire got the go-ahead from the tech, then said in a low voice to him, “I’m going to wheel you around the long way -- and I want you to know I’m doing this while I’m already on a performance improvement plan, so try not to make a fuss -- and we’re going to pick up your boy from the snack room, so don’t… I don’t know. Don’t yell or anything when you see him, okay? He’s been denied long enough, I think?”

“Oh, you’re my _favorite_ ,” Tony breathed. “We’ll behave, promise.” Relief washed over him, warmer than the blanket. He sat up in the chair instead of slumping sullenly, and put on his best customer-service smile.

Claire did the hand-off very smoothly, letting go of the wheelchair handles just as Bucky took them up, appearing like a ghost out of the shadow. “This way, then,” she said, tucking the clipboard files under one arm.

“Hey babe,” Bucky said in an undertone, his hand coming up to brush the side of Tony’s neck softly before returning to the grips.

Claire scouted ahead, then detoured them around again, before finally returning Tony to his room. She helped Tony back into the bed and got the heater set back up for him. “I’ll get your bloodwork and films to the doctor, so, you probably have about thirty, forty minutes before he’ll be ready to stop in. Probably longer, really. And please don’t mention my name, if someone catches you back here. He’s supposed to be _resting_.”

“I’m resting,” Tony promised, laying back against the pillows. “Very restful, having Bucky here. I’m a terrible patient, it’s best to have someone watching me.” He grinned at her. “I don’t know who let him in here, someone probably in scrubs?”

“You are a _terrible_ patient, Mr. Stark,” Claire agreed, cheerfully enough. She gave him a quick wink and then disappeared outside the curtains, drawing them up tight.

Bucky was pale, skin reflecting back the green lights from the monitors, his lower lip swollen and abraded from where he’d been worrying at it with his teeth. “Oh, god, baby, _Tony_ , I…” He practically fell into the uncomfortable plastic chair at Tony’s side.

“I’m okay,” Tony said. It probably wasn’t as reassuring as he’d meant it to be because he was still shivering. Stupid x-rays. “I’m sorry you’ve been having to wait. Everyone’s okay?” Nat had said they were, but that hadn’t stopped Tony from worrying.

“Well, Steve’s ‘bout to drive everyone crazy with his Monday morning quarterbacking of what we all should have done, instead,” Bucky said, his utterly deadpan tone at odds with the way his eyes were searching every inch of Tony’s face, the way his breath came in hitches and starts. “An’ I can’t decide if Rhodes is a godsend, or Satan himself. Been tellin’ me all kinds of mischief that you two used t’ get up to, to keep me distracted.”

“Oh, god, he didn’t tell you about that one sorority and the battle bots team, did he? We swore each other to secrecy after that.” Tony pulled the blanket up higher around his neck and then worked one hand out of the side, reaching for Bucky’s, needing that comfort as much as Bucky seemed to.

Bucky laced his fingers with Tony’s, a lot of tension going out of him with that simple touch. His hand was warm, almost ungodly warm after Tony’d been so cold, for so long. He tucked the blanket around their joined hands as much as he could. “Well, he did tell me about the time you an’ some kid, Justin, did double kegstands until you both fell over. And three separate times you blew up the chem lab trying to make a new sort of fuel for your… I don’t know. I forgot the words.” Bucky pulled the chair closer, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder. “You scared me, so much, baby. I… I thought you were _dead_.”

“Oh, Bucky, honey, I’m sorry, I’m so--” Tony couldn’t say anything else, then, because Bucky was kissing him, a firm kiss that felt like making a point rather than anything more passionate.

“ _Don’t apologize_ ,” Bucky said, when he pulled back. “I swear t’God, Tony, don’t you… this is not _your fault_. It’s not anybody’s fault, it’s just… bad luck. It’s okay, you jus’... concentrate on gettin’ better, okay?” He brushed a thumb down Tony’s cheek and then sat down again. His hand moved restlessly, petting the lumps in the blanket that were Tony’s knees. “You’re okay. You’re alive. Everything’s going to be fine, ‘kay?”  

Tony hadn’t really been _apologizing_. He knew it wasn’t really his fault, it was just... habit. But Bucky looked so fierce about it, he couldn’t argue the point. “Okay, honey,” he said. “I’m all right, or. You know. Will be, as soon as I can get warmed up again.” He glanced toward the door, even if he couldn’t see it through the curtain. “They’d probably be really cranky if you climbed in here with me, huh?”

Bucky gave him a smile; it wasn’t quite his directed smirk that made Tony all weak in the knees, but it sort of wanted to be. After it took a nap and had a stiff drink and chilled out a little. “That might set your heart monitor off, an’ I’d hate for them t’ come in here with a crash cart.”

Tony couldn’t really deny that Bucky had that effect on him, from time to time. Nor did he really want the embarrassment of having Bucky be able to put actual numbers to how much his heart rate sped up from a simple touch, or the flick of Bucky’s tongue over his lip. That was just information he couldn’t see his good-natured, but highly competitive, boyfriend, putting to good use.  

Tony didn’t mean to fall asleep, he really didn’t. But he was finally starting to get warm, and Bucky’s hand on his was such a comfort that he let his eyes slide shut, just listening to the low rumble of Bucky’s voice, and then--

When he woke up again, Bucky was gone, but Tony found that he was clutching a tongue depressor. Someone had drawn a little smiley face on one side, and written _Bucky loves Tony_ on the other.

***

The doctor, when he finally came back to see Tony, was unimpressed. His bloodwork didn’t have any tracers for recent cardiac issues, his heart sounded fine. No unusual swellings or damage on the x-ray film that would justify further testing.

“Stop jumping into cold water,” was the doctor’s very expensive advice. Tony got a prescription for potassium supplements, muscle relaxers, and the advice to follow up with his regular physician (ha, as if he actually had one) if he had chest pain or trouble breathing. And he was finally discharged.

Which was when Tony discovered he didn’t have any clothes. They’d cut his board shorts into ribbons. Claire brought him a pair of pink scrub pants with daisies on them, and a sweatshirt from the hospital’s gift shop with the _Virginia is for Lovers_ logo on it. She wrapped him in a hospital blanket, too. White and ugly but warm. God only knew how much they'd charge him for it.

They made him ride in a wheelchair out the front door, which was some kind of weird anti-suing bureaucracy thing that made him roll his eyes a lot. But the instant the chair pushed through the doors into the main lobby, there was a crowd around him, and he didn’t care. The nurse -- not Claire, but another one -- obligingly waited while he hugged everyone and assured them he was going to live, and she didn’t even huff when he kept hold of Bucky’s hand for the rest of the twenty-foot walk out to the parking lot.

“That’s a good look on you, Tones,” Rhodey said, eyeing the dubious fashion statement that Tony was presenting.

“Damn right it is,” Tony said. “I make this _work_.”

Steve ran out to the lot to get Bucky’s truck, because it was snowing again, and Tony didn’t have shoes. Or a coat. And Bucky apparently didn’t feel like letting go while they waited in the entryway.

Steve pulled up, and Bucky leaned over the wheelchair. “Put your arms around my neck, babe,” he said, and then lifted Tony out of the chair, carrying him out to the truck. Steve already had the heater going full blast, which was good, because even that short exposure to the weather was enough to get Tony shivering again. Bucky put Tony in the back seat and then climbed in after him, with Rhodey tucking in on the other side to squeeze him in between them.

Tony linked his arm through Rhodey’s and leaned into Bucky’s warmth. Shivering again, he noted, but not so badly that he didn’t want to go home.

“I gotcha, babe,” Bucky said. “It’s okay. We’re going home. I’ll get you some hot water bottles and a nice bowl of soup and all the blankets you can stand. Take care of you.”

Steve piped up from the driver’s seat, “He’s actually pretty good at that. Used to nursemaid me through pneumonia once a year or so.”

“Yeah, but I bet _I_ could get him to wear a sexy nurse costume while doing it,” Tony said, and laughed at the collective groan from Steve and Rhodey.

Nat snorted indelicately. “There is nothing sexy about that outfit,” she complained. “I looked frumpy.”

Literally, Tony expected little paper heart-eyes to magically appear on Steve’s face. The look he gave his wife was so utterly devoted and sappy, it was a wonder that a chorus of angels didn’t descend from the heavens to sing their song. “You always look beautiful,” Steve said.

It was his and Bucky’s turn to groan, though Tony’s was more laughter than groan. “Lay it on a little thicker, would you?” The banter and teasing continued around him, but he just slumped further over into Bucky’s warmth and let himself drowse until the slam of the doors announced they’d reached home.

Tony considered the effort of climbing out of the truck and then up all the stairs to the house and let himself whine a little, quietly. He felt wrung out, worse than he had at the end of Memorial Day weekend.

A moment later Nat was wrapping a blanket around him that smelled a bit like french fries. “I stuck it in the microwave, but I do not think it helped,” she said. At least it wasn’t cold.

“I got you, Tony,” Bucky said. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. Steve? Get behind me, yeah?”

“God, do not fall down the stairs, Buck,” Steve said. “We’d just end up right back in the ER.”

“Thus, get behind me,” Bucky said, and Tony wasn’t quite sure he didn’t actually _snarl_ at Steve.

Steve put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Let me help,” Steve said. “We can do a four-arm carry. It’s safer.” With some help from Rhodey, Tony found himself sitting on Bucky and Steve’s arms like they were making a chair for him. Up the stairs and into the house and onto the sofa.

“You okay, babe?” Bucky was there, kneeling in front of him, blinking anxiously.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Just a little...” He lost the thread of his thought, groped for it, found it again. “Little hazy. Maybe from the meds? Or just... tired.” He leaned forward, nuzzling into Bucky’s neck. That felt good. Warm and comfortable. Smelled right. Like home.

“Okay, Tony,” Bucky said, kissing his hair. “Here, shift up a bit. You can sleep right here.” Tony lost the thread again as he ended up with his head on Bucky’s thigh while Nat brought some more blankets and Rhodey sat on the floor just in reach of Tony’s hand. “We got you. You’re home.”

***

Tony was out. He was cuddled up, half-draped over Bucky’s legs, blankets pulled up so that only a tiny bit of his face stuck out so that he could breathe. Bucky had one hand on his shoulder, feeling the flex and pull of his lungs as he slept.

Bucky had sat entirely too many vigils; endless nights when Steve was so sick as a child, struggling with each inhalation. That thick, wheezing sound filling their tiny bedroom as Bucky breathed in time with Steve, as if he could do the work for him.

Too many nights sitting with his Ma, who’d come home to die.

Too many nights sleeping on the couch, right where Tony was, when Dad would take over his bed, unable to sleep in the same room where Ma had gone.

Bucky stroked Tony’s shoulder under the blanket.

Everything was fine.

Tony was _fine_.

Except they hadn’t let him back to see Tony. Steve’d had to hold him back, the first time the nurse had sneered at him; he’d been asking, every twenty minutes or so, if they could go back, if Tony was okay, could he at least get that much? Finally, _finally_ nurse Claire had come out, had beckoned frantically to him out of sight of the triage admissions, to give him an update. She was tall, slender, and matter-of-fact.

“I don’t care who anybody goes to bed with, hon,” she had said. “Patients should be comfortable. An’ he’s not. He wants you with him. I’m gonna do what I can to fix it, but bear with me, okay?”

Bucky made a mental note to send her a gift box, doughnuts, or cookies, or bagels or _something_. She’d probably end up sharing them with whatever self-righteous twats were on the floor that day, but she’d know that he meant them _for her_.

Everything had turned out all right, but what… what if it _hadn’t_? What if Tony had _died_ , and Bucky hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye?

He shifted carefully, reaching for his phone tucked in his back pocket.

How was it only ten o’clock? The day had seemed endless. Nat would probably still be awake. He poked his phone gingerly.

_Need 2 brrow u 4 errand._

New text from Nat:  
_You are very needy._

_Hw soon is 2 soon?_ He looked down as Tony shifted a little in his sleep, made a little sleepy-grouchy noise and settled out again.

New text from Nat:  
_Too soon for what?_

_How sn is 2 sn to ask tny to mrry me?_

New text from Nat:  
_How should I know? Steven waited five years to ask me. Sooner than that, probably acceptable._

Bucky sighed, took a different tack. _Whn did u know u wntd 2 b w Steve f vr?_

New text from Nat:  
_Feb 11, 2011, 2:35pm._

Bucky stared at his phone for a few minutes. _Thts day u met._ He thought that was right.

New text from Nat:  
_I have not been wrong yet._

Bucky clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh too loud and wake Tony up.

_U srs?_

New text from Nat:  
_Yes and no. I like him very much, to start. I decide quickly. Want this to work. Have approached whole time, with This is my forever. One day at a time. Hasn’t ended yet. Was good choice._

Bucky gazed down at the Stark worm snuggled up in his lap. _This is my forever_ , he tried the thought out for size and his heart ached with how right it felt. Okay. Okay.

_Yp. need him 4 fvr. Hlp me pick out ring?_

New text from Nat:  
_I would be delighted. I am best person for you, yes? Stand up at wedding. Matron of Honor?_

Bucky did laugh out loud that time. _U & stv cn figt abt it._

New text from Nat:  
_I win._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Virginia is for Lovers” really is the state’s [tourism motto/slogan](https://www.virginia.org/virginiaisforlovers/).
> 
> And if you’re reading out of posting order, Bucky’s decided he wants to marry Tony here, but the actual proposal is in [A Tree Grows in Williamsburg](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11689785).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was the fluff; this one is nothin' but smut. If that's not your jam, then feel free to give it a miss!

Tony was _warm_ , and it seemed like it had been forever since he’d felt warm. He was warm and in bed with blankets wrapped around him, trapping in the warm air, and his boyfriend pressed against him under the blankets, radiating heat, and everything was just. Warm.

Tony sighed happily, still more than half-asleep, and snuggled closer to Bucky. And oh-- hello, it seemed certain parts of him were more awake than the rest. That was nice, too, a thrum of pleasure, a spark that danced through his balls and up his spine with every tiny shift of his hips.

Bucky mumbled sleepily and rolled toward Tony, and mmm, _he_ was waking up from bottom up, too. Tony couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes, but he did manage to drag his hand down Bucky’s hip and thigh, to pull Bucky’s leg up over his own so their cocks could align and-- Ohhhh, yeah, like that, that was... that was _very_ nice.

“Yeah, think I might,” Bucky managed, something along those lines, still dreaming, maybe. Didn’t stop him from pulling himself closer to Tony, burying his nose in the crook of Tony’s neck, lips moving light over Tony’s collarbone. His hips moved in slow, sensual circles, rubbing against Tony. “... wanna?”

“Mmm,” Tony grunted. Ug, _talking_ , why. “Mmyeah.” Of course he wanted it. He just wanted to be sleepy and slow about it for a bit longer, because this felt so good, just the way it was. The hand that could move, he should do something with that. He slid it back up Bucky’s thigh, pulling them even closer, ghosting his fingertips along Bucky’s crack. “Yeah, baby,” he mumbled. “C’mon.”

Bucky exhaled, arched, his hips shoving graceless and eager, at Tony’s. His hand curled, sliding down Tony’s arm, possessive and clutching at his bicep, urging Tony on. As Tony lightly explored the half-circle of Bucky’s ass, Bucky was practically purring, each breath a soft sigh, heated air against Tony’s shoulder. His mouth moved, slow, tongue curling out to taste and lick, lips dragging against Tony’s chest. “Mmmmm… mmmhmmm.”  

He slid down, further, cock dragging along Tony’s thigh as Bucky mouthed his way downward. Stopped to lick and suck at Tony’s nipple, not even teasing, just wet and hot and greedy.

“Oh, oh yeah,” Tony breathed, and fumbled his fingers into Bucky’s hair, petting and twisting. His hips wouldn’t go still, not without some real effort on his part, but why would he? He thrust slowly against Bucky’s stomach, trapping his cock between them and all but panting for friction. “Bucky, god, baby.”

“Mmokay,” Bucky mumbled, let Tony push and direct until his mouth was on Tony’s dick, lapping at the crown like Tony was a triple-scoop, long, wet lashes that swirled around, Bucky’s fingers gripping Tony’s hips, rocking him up into it. Still not quite awake, Bucky’s gag reflex was slow on the uptake, letting Tony past his lips, across the soft palate, and all the way down Bucky’s throat until Tony was almost fully sheathed in that wet, slick heat.

“Oh _god_ ,” Tony rasped. He was awake now, no way to doze through _that_. Not that he would want to, even if he could; god, Bucky’s mouth was a damn _miracle_. He thrust up a little into Bucky’s throat, then pulled back, not wanting it to go too quickly. “God, baby, you’re so good to me.” He petted at Bucky’s hair some more, warmly touched at the way Bucky tilted into the contact.

Bucky made some soft noise that sounded like agreement, or maybe some sort of smug satisfaction, but Tony couldn’t care about that, because the way it caused Bucky’s whole mouth to vibrate was just… oh, god, he was going to--

Suddenly Bucky pulled back and off him, gasping and, then, “Oh, _Christ_ , Tony,” he said, sounding almost horrified. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” It came out a little whimpery, because oh _fuck_ , Bucky played at edging him occasionally but they’d never gotten _that_ close to the tipping point before pulling back, shit. Tony panted through the ache and shuddered. “Oh, Christ, that was close, oh _fuck_...”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky was babbling, almost frantic. “I was _asleep_ , I… I didn’t realize… oh, my God, Tony. Are you okay?”

Bucky’s tone finally pierced through the veil of lust and need. “Wh-- Baby, I’m fine!” Give or take a case of blue balls, anyway. “What’s wrong?”

“I was asleep,” Bucky said again, soft. “I’m _sorry_. You’re sick, you’re hurt, you don’t… you don’t need me pouncing on you like some sort of fuckboi. Oh, my god.”

Tony had to actually pause to process that, for an instant not even understanding why Bucky thought he was sick. Then it came back to him -- the Plunge and the rest of the day spent in the emergency room. “Honey. Calm down and breathe, Bucky, _I started it,_ okay? If anyone was pouncing this morning it was me.”

Bucky actually did stop and breathe -- remarkable -- before chewing his lip. “I wanted to,” he finally said. “I… I mean, ‘cause you’re here, you’re really here, an’ I almost lost you, _almost…_ and I was dreaming. Wanted t’ touch you and feel you ‘cause you’re still here.” He gazed up at Tony from under his stupidly long eyelashes. “You did?”

“I really did. Woke up already wanting it, and you had a really nice case of morning wood and I just moved in. And even if I hadn’t, I definitely remember telling you that waking up to a blowjob was the only reasonable way to wake up, yeah?” Tony brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, down the side of Bucky’s face. “Kinda took it out of you yesterday, didn’t it?”

Bucky pulled Tony in, dragging him into a tight embrace. “Scared me,” he admitted, kissing Tony’s hair roughly. “Couldn’t sleep. Carried you in to bed, an’ I was just layin’ here, listening to you breathing, and thinking how much I need you.” He ran a hand down Tony’s back, fingers drawing lazy spirals. “Guess I was dreamin’ about it, makin’ love with you, nice and slow, and then… then I _was_.”

Tony snuggled into Bucky’s warmth. “And then you were,” he agreed. “And I know if I’d asked you to stop, dreaming or not, you would’ve. Even though I started it.” He tipped his head back to grin at Bucky, and then stretch up for a kiss. “You okay now?”

Bucky gave Tony such a mournful, heartbroken look that Tony’s chest ached. “Well, no,” he said, sadly, fingers drifting lower until he was teasing at the base of Tony’s spine. “Didn’t get t’ finish…”

Tony laughed and nuzzled into Bucky’s neck. “Well, aside from that, I meant. Because I’m kind of liking this nice slow making love plan, that sounds good. I think we should get back to that.”

***

Bucky still had the taste of Tony’s essence in his mouth when he leaned down to kiss his boyfriend. He sucked Tony’s lower lip into his mouth, tugged lightly. “Yeah, definitely, we should get back t’ that,” he said, agreeable. Every bit of his skin ached to touch Tony, feel Tony’s solid realness. The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, listen to the pounding of his heart. To know the worst could have happened and it passed them by. That Tony was okay, that he was here, still in Bucky’s arms.

He couldn’t get enough, even the little things, the way Tony hissed and arched away from Bucky’s hand when he passed over the bandaid on his backside. A muttered “sorry” and Bucky was already shifting his grip, trying to find the perfect place for his hand. Tony’s hip was nice, his skin soft and supple, a little ticklish just on the inside to get him squirming and writhing, and then Bucky was on him. He couldn’t resist any longer, needed the feel of Tony along his entire being. He straddled Tony’s hips, looking down at him. “Yeah? This good, baby?”

Tony rolled his hips up, seeking friction, eyes wide and blown in the morning light. “You drive me crazy in all the best ways,” he panted. His hands moved over Bucky’s skin as if they didn’t know how to be still, sliding over Bucky’s arms and chest and thighs. Curled around Bucky’s neck and pulled until Bucky gave in and leaned down for a kiss. Slipped through Bucky’s hair, alternately scratching and soothing as Tony sucked on Bucky’s lip.

Bucky groaned, planted his hands on either side of Tony’s head. He rolled his hips, rutting against Tony’s hip and stomach. He swelled, erection coming back with a vengeance, even more insistent, like hurrying might make sure it got what it wanted this time. Before Bucky messed it up again.

_It’s okay_ , he told himself. _Tony’s okay._

Tony was more than okay, squirming under Bucky’s weight with no small amount of urgency. So sweet. Bucky lowered himself back down, propping up on one elbow to keep from smothering Tony. Drew his fingers down Tony’s face, followed them with light kisses. On his eyebrow, flicked his tongue over Tony’s cheek, kissed the tip of his nose. Let his finger trace a line over Tony’s top lip, where the tickle of Tony’s mustache brushed.

Tony’s nose twitched at that, and he smiled that sweet smile, the one that made Bucky’s chest do funny, contradictory squeezing and expanding things. He examined Bucky’s face, eyes flicking back and forth, and then he relaxed, a little, with a laugh. “You were not kidding about slow, huh? Okay, just...” He drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’m with you. I think. We’ll see how long I hold out.”

“Let me,” Bucky said, begged, really. “Jus’ let me take care of you, baby.” He didn’t wait for Tony’s response, it was already there in the way he shifted under Bucky’s weight, the way he breathed. Bucky dipped his head and kissed, opening Tony’s mouth up slow and easy, tasting his lip, feeling the whisper of breath against his cheek. Tony’s hands came up, slid into Bucky’s hair, and he lost control.

It wasn’t a kiss, that was too tame a word. It was a torrent, scorching Bucky to the bone. Ravenous, wet, open-mouthed, taking and taking and giving back at the same time. He moaned into Tony’s mouth, shuddered against him from top to toe. Kissing Tony was like drinking vodka from the bottle, sweet and pliant in the mouth and then a blowtorch in the back of his throat. He craved, he _wanted_. He kissed Tony until he was drunk on it.

“Bucky, oh, _god_ ,” Tony gasped, shifting under Bucky like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, a roll of hips and an arch of his back. “God, I love you.” His hands were tugging at Bucky’s hair, gentle but persistent, begging wordlessly for more, _more_.

The greedy way Tony clung to him woke up deeper urges. _Slow_ , he told himself, but he didn’t think he could do that, not the way Tony was moaning, the way Bucky was driven to bite at that luscious mouth. As if his body had a will of its own that had nothing to do with what his brain said was best, and safe, and soothing. Bucky’s tottering will gave out a little gasp and fell to its knees. His mouth came down on Tony’s again, harsh and needy.

Bucky slid his hand down, palm seeking, and then… curled around the heat of Tony’s cock, brushing light and teasing. “Yeah, this what you want, is it?” He stroked, just soft enough to tempt Tony into rutting against his palm. God, he loved Tony’s cock, the skin velvet soft, thick and fine. Pretty, so pretty.

Tony’s hips lifted, and lifted again, seeking more. “Yes, please, ogod... Bucky, _please_...” His head tossed on the pillow, on the edge of frantic, desperate and needy. “Bucky! Touch me, _please_.”

“Shhhh,” Bucky said. He shifted, laying next to Tony and nudging him over. Bucky spooned up against his back, then stroked him again, the best possible angle, like he was doing for himself. He thumbed over the ridge, then over the crown, smearing around the beading precome there. It wasn’t enough. Bucky took his hand off Tony long enough to lick his palm and went back to what he was doing, stroking and teasing and letting Tony’s perfect ass flex against Bucky. _Oh god._ Tony’s backside was so plush and inviting and god, Bucky wanted him.

Tony rocked back against Bucky’s cock and thrust forward into Bucky’s hand, vibrating like a guitar string. “Oh god, oh god, Bucky... Please, I-- Oh, _god_ , I need you so bad...” Tony twisted like a cat, seeking Bucky’s mouth with his, and it wasn’t a skilled, delicate kiss; it was sloppy and frantic and messy and _perfect._

“Need you, too,” Bucky managed, but he was too close, and Tony was way too keyed up. He couldn’t take his time, open Tony up, get him… he groaned, frustrated. “Want it…” Bucky turned, groped around on the bedside table for the lube. “Hold on, baby, I got you, I…” _There!_

He slicked himself up, almost losing it at his own touch, and wouldn’t that be pathetic? Tony whimpered, biting at his lower lip and tossing a lost, longing expression in Bucky’s direction. He bit off a burst of laughter. “You’re giving me th’ puppy eyes durin’ sex, baby?” He kissed the pout off Tony’s mouth until Tony was moaning again. “Stay on your side.”

“Mm, you got it, babe.” Tony grinned, the cheeky brat, and arched his back, sticking that gorgeous ass of his out invitingly. “Come on then, before I explode.”

Bucky pulled Tony’s leg up, hooked it over Bucky’s hip, spooning them together. He rocked, experimentally. Tested the angle and shifted until he was sliding his cock between Tony’s cheeks, brushing over his hole on every stroke. Once he was secure in his rhythm, he put his lube-slicked hand on Tony’s dick and rubbed in time with those slow, easy thrusts.

Tony groaned, head tipping back until it was tucked up against Bucky’s shoulder, and his hand groped behind him until it found Bucky’s hair again. His whole body seemed to be one big knot of tension, desperate for release. “Bucky, I-- Oh, oh, oh...” He keened, movements going jerky. “Bucky--!” He came with a shout and a shudder that wracked his whole body.

Bucky needed, he needed… oh, god, _more_. He thrust harder, rubbing against Tony’s ass, against his balls, still shivering and twitching with his orgasm. Bucky moaned against Tony’s neck. “Oh, god…” Shoved Tony’s leg down off his hip, wrapped an arm around Tony’s chest. Fucked into that slick hollow -- thigh gap, his brain supplied crazily, remembering Nat complaining about a Cosmo article at one point -- between Tony’s legs. Warm, slick friction, thank god, he needed, needed. Tony was whining, overstimulated. Tony twisted, and oh, that… yeah, _just like that_.

Bucky tucked his head against Tony’s back, sweat-damp and skin overheated. Groaned and… there, there, _there_. Oh… He saw splinters of light against his eyelids. Tony’s body hot and squirming against him, driving Bucky to some plane of higher pleasure. A maelstrom of ecstasy whirled over him, too big to be contained any longer and Bucky shattered, spilling himself between Tony’s thighs. His jaw clenched so tight it creaked as he rocked through his orgasm, holding Tony to him so hard it probably hurt.

“Oh, god…”

Tony was rubbing at his arm, firm and soothing. “Hey, baby,” he panted, laughing a little. “You with me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky managed, panting for breath. Having an orgasm had never made him want to cry before, but he could feel it, relief and joy and wonder, all choking up at the back of his throat, but he’d done enough damage to Tony already and he swallowed it back. “Yeah, I’m good, baby, right here with you. Always.”

“Good. Right where you belong.” Tony tipped his head back, inviting a kiss, and drew it out, slow and sweet. When they parted, he flopped back down to the bed. “I dunno if I’m ready to get up,” he said, sounding sleepy again. “Maybe I’ll just stay in bed all day.”

“Yeah, you can do that,” Bucky said, kissing Tony’s hair again. “Right where you belong.” Warm and safe and in Bucky’s arms. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you too, honey,” Tony murmured, nestling back against him, drowsy and warm.

Bucky glanced at the clock. Ten minutes. He could cuddle with his boyfriend for ten more minutes, then he had to get up. _Ug._ But for right now, with Tony is his arms, there wasn’t anything else Bucky needed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on Polar Expressions! Tune in Sunday for the start of Zen and the Art of Family Maintenance, which is a little family drama followed by miles and miles of wedding fluff and feels (and, obviously, smut).


End file.
